I told you I would In my dreams
by BrittyZombie
Summary: Herein lies a Whovian-esque mixture of magic and butterflies wherein time leads to memories that should not quite exist between two boys who bear the tales of their past and dreamt lives.  Past-line Character Death.
1. I pirated your dreams once

I want to thank Katie/Kurt/FancyZebra for this, since she is my coauthor and I don't know how to do that on but regardless. I've been meaning to post this since the Kurtofksy Big Bang ended but here you go.

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><p>"Do you ever get deju vu?" Dave asked, his voice soft as he faced the sunrise. He had so suddenly stopped walking that Kurt only had a few seconds to stop himself from colliding with his love.<p>

He responded by shrugging simply. "Yes, but everybody does."

Dave closed his eyes and took a breath in of the salty air. "No I mean... I feel like I've been here before. But I've never been to the ocean until this week. I remember how this sand feels but I've never felt it. I feel like I've seen this coast before. This lighthouse," he pointed., "I can remember how the light hits the ocean during the night. I swear I've sat on that rock. Stepped on that rock and bled and someone with soft, gentle hands wrapped up my foot. I remember the pressure of drowning in the water and the taste of salt-water in my mouth, But Kurt… I haven't. I know I haven't... but I don't… believe myself." Dave's brows wrinkled in either confusion or deep thought.

Kurt blinked and smiled sweetly. Wrapping a gentle arm around Dave, he hugged him. But what he didn't say, or acknowledge, is that he agreed. The settings were new, there was no way he should have known what it all felt like, but every sensation was like a distant memory. He felt like his body shouldn't be reacting so smoothly to the strange sense, but here Kurt was, looking at the sky with his newly minted husband; something that a little voice in his head said had happened before. Kurt knew otherwise, though.

Like Dave, Kurt's body was being called to from the sea. Telling him it's home.

Dave kicked off his sandals and motioned for Kurt to follow suit before they started their walk to the ocean, traversing through slightly sun-warmed sand. Dave sat down on a rock, his feet dangling into the cold water. He'd swear he could see dolphins, but Kurt would chuckle and say that those are probably ravenous sharks. But he doesn't. Kurt and Dave just sit there, watching the sunrise.

"I never realized just how beautiful a sunrise is." Kurt says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's because you've seen too many sunsets. You see how the day ends," Dave wraps an arm around Kurt, holding him closely and rested his chin against Kurt's head, "But rarely how it begins," he finished softly as they nestled in to a comfortable silence.

Most stories have a beginning and an ending. Most stories don't have a time period parallel to their own. Most stories are just a repeat of the past, a fading light figment. But Dave wouldn't call this "most stories." Then again, if you asked him how he and Kurt fell in love he'd just smile and tell you that he walked through a little place called hell to get there. Which, in a manner of speaking, is what high school was. Although high school is considered hell to most, Dave and Kurt were unfortunate enough to have their own special level of it.

Just as the sun was barely above the waterline, Kurt smiled and grabbed Dave's hand, leading him into the water. Dave stopped just as the water covered his ankles before he rolled up his jeans. Surprisingly, Kurt showed no worries. "These are throwaways, bought them just for this reason." He smiled and waded to his waist. He openly shuddered, exclaiming that the water was cold, but all Dave did was chuckle at him. Kurt let go and scrambled onto a rock, perching. "Hey Dave?"

He looks up and grunted in acknowledgement of Kurt, playing with the hem of his pants as he rolled them up as high as he could.

"I love you."

"Love you more, Fancy." He smiled, feeling like he was made of jello, the butterflies in his stomach descended and erupted. Something that only Kurt could make him feel. "Let's go for a boat ride," he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

xXxXxXx

"Oh my god! This is crazy!" Kurt said, his hands gripping the railing of the stationary boat. His knuckles white from fear and also delight. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, a song on his lips. "There once was a pirate, who put out to sea. His mates all around him, no maiden on his knee." He sighed softly, the salt-laden air licking at his hair. He squealed, "Dave I can't see the bottom of the ocean, but there is this pretty fish. It's my favorite colors-"

"Kurt, be careful, please." Dave passed a glance at Kurt, before continuing to talk with the boat's captain. Dave and Kurt both only had minimal instruction before getting on the ship. Dave knew it was wise to have a crew, at the very least a licensed captain on a ship. They had already been on the ocean for a few short hours, but it felt like they were meant to be there all that time.

Dave only had a split second to react before Kurt lost his footing and found himself in the ocean.

I remember how the salt tasted when it filled my mouth and my lungs. But in this case, I am not he, but I and I am me. But regardless, I was in the water too. The water was everywhere and it took everything I had just to keep my head above the waterline. I lost everything that day. I lost my ship. I lost the treasure I had on that ship. ( Every good pirate knows to have a stash someplace, but even then, I had lost my ship and had no way to go there.) I lost my crew. My crew is easier to replace than a ship. It took me ten years to find out how to get a substantial sized ship. Even then I was always leering at the other ships at port. Sturdier ships. Ships with beautiful flags. Mine was torn to shreds and I didn't want to think about what hoops I'd have to jump through to procure a new flag; one of my standards, at least. But I'm getting away from the point. Water.

I still remember how heavy I felt when I washed up on shore. I don't know how long I was out. Logic tells me it wasn't too long, a human can only go so long without going crazy from dehydration. He said I wasn't that far along from it. He... I... It's hard to talk about him. There is this tightness in my chest; He was irreplaceable. As much as it pains me to say that so willfully.

His face was the first thing I saw through my blurred vision. His hair was pulled back loosely, it was a dark. Brown with hints of red. That's what I noticed first. It was just brown hair and skin that spent too long in the sun without a hat. Then my eyes flickered into focus and I saw him. Gorgeous hazel eyes laced with worry enveloped me. It was strange and I wanted to run, but I knew my legs wouldn't carry me. I was hungry, and tired, and so very thirsty. He muttered something at this point, and before I knew it, he had swung me over his shoulder. Strong shoulders... but I'm running from the point again. I believe I must have said something about my hat because I remember a change in the distance my face was from the sand for a moment and I had reason to believe he grabbed my hat. Then my memory went fuzzy again.

When I woke back up, I was in a bed and didn't smell of salt water, or anything anymore. No proper pirate grime or splashed rum or seagull droppings. All I had on was a loosely fitting undershirt. I remember looking to the side table and seeing a pile of my items, including my clothes freshly washed, something even I rarely worried about. Dirty clothes meant blending in, especially when you were running through the forest. Which, in all honesty, doesn't happen very often when you rarely leave water but I like to plan for all possibilities, even the extremely unlikely.

I was so hungry, I remember that clearly. I was half way out of bed before this middle aged woman appeared out of thin air and tutted me back into it, saying "The young master will be up soon with some food," and that I should sit back and relax. Then she murmured about how it's no one's job to cook dinner for guests but hers, so clearly "this ragamuffin" was important. I didn't catch it all as she whisked out of the door. I turned my attention to the other side of the room. I could see the ocean from the window.

My life always found it's way back to the ocean.

My life is the ocean.

A life I was so keen to relish in before him.

He was in the door-frame when I turned back. My eyes flickered and I was unsure if he was a part of the door, but they quickly steadied. A tray in his hand that had soup, a crusty bread and what I assumed to be some cheese. He just smiled - it was so sweet, that smile - and sat the tray down before he sat in the chair next to the bed. He ushered me to eat and it took all of my willpower to pull my attention from studying his features to staring at the contents of the bowl. I poked at the mystery broth with my spoon. How I longed for a piece of fatty bird to grease my hands, but I had to eat what was given to me.

"I didn't know how long you were without food. And I didn't want you to feel sick if we gave you something too rich. Whenever father makes a trip to and from France, he eats simple foods for a week or two," he mumbled quickly noticing my behavior. My eyes flickered over to him again before I started my meal. The broth was warm and slightly fragrant. The thought crossed through my head of where I was. I knew it was 1726, and where I last remember seeing land was tropical islands, but this place was new to me. The air was warm and the more I focused on it, the more I was uncomfortable with the still air. I was so used to the moist air of the ocean or the tropics that this was new to me.

I was allowed to eat in silence, my location nagging at me. I was near the ocean, I knew that, and this man's accent was only slight to the point where I was unable to decipher where he was from. But his reference to France moments earlier gave me reason to believe he was French. After I finished the broth, I started picking at the bread in silence. "So where, pray-tell, am I?"

"In my bed," he titled the side of his mouth, a laugh in his voice. I wanted to shoot him for toying with me. No one toys with me. But my gun was nowhere in sight, and undeniably, unusable. So I just sighed, and glared at him.

"I could have told you that. Now I require my location in the world. I see ocean, and it's warm here, so I must not be too far from Port Royal. So. Where. Am. I." I was even more annoyed. He just kept smiling at me and it drove me mad.

"New France. Southern part of the territory. Port Royal is a boat ride south of here. Just on the other side of the gulf." He was still smiling. If I had the strength in my body, I would have lunged at him.

"Stop smiling at me."

"You need a ship. My father and I are ship-makers."

That's right. My ship. It was torn apart from the battle with some rivals then the storm came and it fell apart beneath me. I felt it crack and crumble. I remember how the wood sounded like it was groaning. I was the one who stood there while my lazy crew jumped ship. I was the one who, I assume, lived. I was the one who watched my ship get swallowed by the sea, joining the fleet of Davy Jones.

"I know you're a pirate. I made sure that you didn't look like one when I brought you home. You owe me. I'll help you get a ship, you help me to get out of here. Simple." His eyes twinkled and the green in the hazel of his eyes sparkled brighter. He had me cornered. I wanted to grab my gear and run, but I was stuck and even to this day, I am unsure if I was... happy about it. I didn't know his intentions, but I knew mine. He looked like the men I found myself wishing to take to my cabin or to secluded inns.(But that was rarely, if ever the case.) Tall with broad, strong shoulders. Painfully strong arms that could hoist a sail with a few swift strokes. He was like a mobile tree trunk, sturdy. "The question of me being comfortable at sea is already answered: We're ship-makers. I've made countless trips on a ship. Perhaps not like yours, but enough that I've got my sea-legs." He went quiet again and I let my thoughts get themselves in order. It was possible, even if a bit unwise at this current conjecture in time.

"I-"

"But if you're unsure, I'd be more than happy to drop you off on an island somewhere. With a gun. That is custom, yes? For someone in your position?" I mentally noted how cute he looked when his head was titled to the side like a questioning mutt, his eyes muted as thoughts darted across his mind.

"Don't interrupt me. First, that is saved for mutinies. I merely lost my ship to the sea. Second, I was going to say that you're welcome to follow through with your plan. I will let you stay on my crew. But since you were so quick to put so little faith in me, perhaps I might have changed my mind in that short mount of time." I was lying, I still fully intended to agree. But he didn't need to know this. It was cruel, yes. But it was merely a game. I could see his eagerness to escape dissipate to slight annoyance. But I quirked a smile and locked eyes with him for a second before I smoothed down the covering on the bed.

"I-"

"I may be a pirate but I still have honor. Dubious honor, but it is the same in every language. I can be trusted to follow through on my word. But if you're so quick to retreat, who is to say that you won't when the time comes and I need you?" My question hung in the air and I remember the look on his face as he was deep in thought. His forehead crinkled and I was quick to stifle the urge to reach over and to touch his face.

"I admit I'm weary, but I realize I have no other chance to leave here. I don't want this life. I don't want to inherit my family's name, the business. I don't want to have the pressure to be who my father wants. I don't wish to marry, that is what he wants. But what I want, what the world wants for me, is to be found somewhere at sea. Somewhere out there," He gestured to the window, the clear skies and calm seas singing a siren's song to me, that must only be louder for him and more tempting. "My life has already been made for me, all that is left is for me to grab it and call it mine." At this point he sunk down in to the chair that sat next to me and roughly grabbed my hands, I noted how calloused his hands already were from being on a ship and my mind was set. "I need you to get me out of here, and you need the same. " He went silent, his hands still wrapped around mine.

"You need to listen."

"Excuse m-"

"I already said yes. But now it's definitive. Fill your side of the bargain and I'll fill mine. If I fail to follow through, I give you permission to punish me in a way you feel fit.

He relaxed and slumped back and instantly my hands felt colder from the lack of touch. He sighed and palmed his face for a moment. "3 nights from now. That should give you time to recover enough to run. We'll act normal. There is a ship docked, I don't know who it belongs to, and it's make is common enough as to not cause alarm. Meet me at the dock on the far end, by the fisherman's ship. Our ship is the one with no flags. Which is easy enough to procure. When the city quells for the night-"

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"We'll board it and be long gone before anyone would pay a wind's notice! Before we even know, we'd be in Tortuga, or someplace I am more welcome, to find a new crew!" I finished excitedly. In my hazy mind, it seemed flawless. But naturally now, I am wise enough to see the holes, but still, I wouldn't have changed it. He smiled at me this time, and it took everything I had to calm my heart.

"There are a pair of satchels beneath the bed. We'll use those when we leave. Fill them with food from the kitchen, whatever we can muster-"

"Never forget the citrus, and rum. You must have rum? But aye, you're french so wine will have to do until we make port."

"I'm not quite sure I've had rum."

"Ah, it's fantastic. Lovely. Never leave home without it, well. I have now, but that's because my ship is home... which is on the bottom of the sea so it's no use to me. Oh rum... "

"I'll make sure to find some." That smile... He smiled again and it felt like I was on a ship, my legs wobbled but I was still in bed. He nodded his farewells, taking extra care in noting that he'd miss his bed but the one down the hall was suitable.

The next few days passed painfully slow. I found myself talking to his father a few times, but never for long. He was strange man, a powerful man. He reminded me of my own father, making him all the more frightening. He spoke softly, and deliberately, struggling with his accent and words more than he son did. He liked to ask me why I thought his son saved me and I, countless times, assured him it must have been out of the pure kindness of his heart. Having walked by a poor, washed up soul like I, who could turn their noses the other way and ignore it?

On the last day, he merely smiled at me as he walked past that morning. I was standing by the window, watching the outside world. Silently, I thanked the gods in the heavens above that he didn't stop and talk. I was struggling enough to contain my excitement to return to the sea again.

But he and I found ourselves talking for hours every night. He being him. We spoke about everything. Childhood, family, what makes us happy and sad, and love. We spoke for many hours of love. And I found myself growing more attached to him as the time went on, and it was not something I was used to. I was used to control. And I had none over him.

At this point in the story, you don't know who I mean when I refrain to "He" then you are out of luck. He won't be named, he's more important than a name. A name is just a mess of letters and sounds, but he was his heart. His voice. His soul.

And I only wished for it all to be mine.

On the night that we were to run away, he had barely said a word to me that day. Panic erupted in me and I worried that he had changed his mind and didn't trust me any more, but honestly, I wasn't even sure I trusted myself. But when he dropped off my mid-day meal, he smiled and his eyes twinkled in excitement.

He whispered, his voice just nigh above the winds, that everything was in order.

I was going back home.

I have never felt more free.

That night was riveting. It's a haze. I remember grabbing the satchel and darting to the kitchen, and lugging food to the meeting point, dodging guards and a few civilians. I remember my relief when I saw him; I almost threw my arms around hi, but I remembered: I was a pirate and I was a man. I calmed my steps and stood next to him, a slanted smile on my face. "This one?" I asked when I pointed to this ship he was standing near. It was medium size, which was good because I hated having a crew more than what I needed. I started thinking. 8 cannons, I'd need three people per cannon. An extra dozen or so on deck. I remember he nodded at this point and ushered me on to the ship.

It felt like magic when we weren't caught.

It felt like magic when morning broke and we were no where in sight.

It felt like magic having this man at my side.

He kept standing as close as he could to the bow of the ship. I had the wheel in my hand, naturally. But I was spending more attention than I should have on him. His eyes were closed, and surprisingly, his knuckles weren't gripping anything tightly. He was humming softly, every so often the wind would carry a note or two over to me, I didn't recognize it, but it was beautiful anyways.

During the days, we were silent. At night though, I asked him to join me in the captain's cabin. He looked at me, questioning. I was quick to ramble off that it may have seemed strange, and weak, for a pirate captain to have trouble sleeping with only his own self in a room.

The subsequent 2 nights, our trip being three in total, he joined me without question. And I told the voice in my head that asked him to join me in my bunk to proceed to shove the words where the sun shines not. But I relished in those moments. We told each other of past loves. We never mentioned names, and gender definition seemed to have been avoided too. For me, because I had no motivation to show him any inclination of my... choices. While he... he just seemed nervous, or like he was uttering a curse every time he spoke of past loves. The present me knows why, naturally. But then, I just assumed he was not wanting to share.

When we made port, I told him to spend the days in the city, but at night to come with me to the places pirates would find themselves.

In a week, we almost had a crew.

In a week, I realized I loved a man that I'd never have, but I was stuck being in his company. I felt cursed having this man as my first mate, my most trusted crew. How I fell in love with him I'd never be able to comprehend. It was piece by piece, falling in love over seconds in the day, but never enough that stopped me before then.

Rapidly, one day it struck me.

We were standing in an old run down building that had become the local hangout for pirates. We lovingly called it "The Scurve." An old joke on how pirates get scurvy because we're a dirty lot, and well, this was a dirty lot. The woman who ran the place was older than dirt and we commonly called her "Peg-Leg Sally". No one knew if she had a peg-leg though, but she did walk with a definite limp. It was loud and our new crew was surrounding us, laughing. Drinking in excitement. I remember he clapped a large hand on my shoulder as he regaled the story of our meeting. Of him finding me washed up on shore, a mouth full of sand and shrimp. I wanted to make him stop, the story made me come off as some weakling when I was the captain. I stopped the story when he spoke about picking me up. "Now let me tell you this," I took the time to move in to the center and to scan the crowd, I was always one for dramatics, "If any of you were to repeat this story, I won't be as kind as I am right now. I'm in a good mood, great drink in my hand. But if I find us out at sea, and you as so dare as to cross the line, I will feel no remorse to strap a cannon ball to your leg and throw you overboard. I swear Davy Jones will become your best friend." I smiled and stepped back to him, a lightness in my voice when I said, "You can continue now."

He looked startled but he didn't stop.

He didn't leave my mind and I just found myself focusing more on him and less on the crew who would be joining us at sea in a few short days. How he relaxed the instant the tankard of beer joined his hand. How his hand never left my shoulder. How he kept denying me every time I'd ask him if he'd like a swing from the rum in my hand.

The rest of the tavern-time comes in fleeting memories, I supposed I just didn't care about it. But I do remember he had to help me to my room. I remember in my fit of giggles I ordered him not to leave.

"No! I mean, go. Or stay. Or go. Your choice." I remember at this point I was huddled on the bed. Me. Huddled on the bed like an abused and broken mutt. I think I remember the bed sagging as he sat next to me. He was right there. And before I knew it, he was holding me. From the story he told me, I was crying. Muttering something about nightmares and how that's why it's hard for me to sleep alone and sleeping alone the past week, they came back tenfold.

After I calmed down I told him the story of how I had to watch these men beat my mom, and how they murdered her. How at just a few years old I had to start taking care of my father. How when he met a new woman, who had a son, I left. "He doesn't need me. Not with his perfect replacement son. Who was tall and strong while I am admittedly shorter and physically weaker. I'm good with words, and control, which is the only reason why I even am a pirate. I couldn't make him happy. He doesn't nee-"

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"Hush," his arms were around me again. "Your father will always need you. When the time comes, you'll be with him again."

"I fear that will only be after my death and even then... I - I Have so many secrets that even in death I fear he will judge me. I fear not God, Davy Jones, or guns. But I fear my father," I whispered it in to his arm. I could smell him. He smelled so good I never wanted him to leave. "I am sorry, this is not something I should be sharing." He shrugged and pulled me closer.

"So tell your secrets. If you live your life with none, then in death he'll have less to judge you on."

I think in my drunken haze I told him my secrets.

I think I told him everything, shy of my love for him. But I do recall him not reacting when I told him of my past... companionship of men. He just smiled and said, "That's not strange. Not at all."

I found myself even more pulled into him when he shared his greatest secret with me: that he, like I, took companionship of young men! Imagine me upon learning this. I felt like a cannonball was shot into me, but it was most delightful. His shaky voice calmed as he realized that what I had on him, he had on me. The current me is quick to add that we are forever bound already, but the past me is just happy that I may have a chance to get what I want, and, as always, I get what I want.

The next few days were such a blur. We got the last few we needed, and had started stocking the ship days ago, with items we either looted or bought.

Oh it felt wonderful to be back on the ship again, the open sea surrounding us. I felt free again. Days I spent on deck, nights we spent together. Sharing. No more secrets, he said.

So no more secrets.

Three days into the trip, I ran out of stories. I told him I could never part with him, he smiled and said that he hoped we never had to. Then I repeated it and it was like his brain finally clicked on and he understood. He startled and his brain fumbled, and the next moment I knew, his face was pressed against mine.

He kissed me with such passion and power that I felt like the stars fell from the sky that night. The way he held me that night... I had never felt it before. I never knew what I was missing. What I'm so happy I never had before. I always went for men like me before, but he... he completed me in a way never before. The way he felt against me, I knew I'd never find someone like him again. I felt like only the brightest of fires every time he touched me. I felt like the sun and the stars backed away from the heat that radiated from me.

And I loved every moment of it.

That's only a fragment of our story; the rest I will not share. That's how we met, our life together is only his and mine. But how we were separated is much like how we began in the way that the sea caused it. The ocean was the power behind us. It controlled us. We were brought together because the ocean wanted it, but we were torn apart because the ocean wanted it also.

We ran in to a string of bad luck; much like before I had met him. My ship, our ship, was being torn apart, blown up. Soon, she found her new home in the ocean. I held him tightly, shaking, I knew what was to come. He was injured, heavily. There was so much blood but he made sure I was safe. "It's funny," he smiled and placed a bloody kiss on my forehead, "How that the ocean brought you to me, but is now taking me from you. Wait for me, I will see you in death. And if not in death, then in the next life. I will always love you, never doubt that." With that, he was gone. My heart with him. I cried so hard I felt like I filled the oceans.

Once again, the beach was there. But when I woke up, I wasn't I, but he. Kurt. But Kurt is me. See?

Kurt sputtered as the water that pooled in his lungs was expelled. Dave crouched next to his body and held Kurt's hand, shaking heavily. "Please don't ever do that again, Fancy." Kurt smiled and brought a wet hand up to trace his jawline.

"You told me to wait for you. I couldn't leave you alone." he said, feeling breathless, a soft hand tracing his jaw and a smile on his face. Dave's brow wrinkled, his mind being brought back to the time in high school where he broke down. But at that time, he had only meant it for the walks between classes, and of tormented teenage memories, the ocean's mind waking them up inside.


	2. There is a key to my sickness

The name "Cian" is pronounced "Key-an". There be angst in this one, this is the chapter the 'character death' happens.

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><p>"-And next thing I knew I was on stage singing an 80's song with Rachel! It was wild!" Blaine smiled, his actions drunken.<p>

"That's why when we go out, it's never someplace with karaoke. Because little Blainey here," Kurt smirked at his best friend, taking Dave's hand in his own, "likes to be a lush and just loves making a fool of himself on stage. Seriously, sweetie," he said, locking eyes with Blaine, "You looked like a cannibal, and not in the movie way, in the legitimate I-will-skin-you-alive-and-devour-you-whole sort of way. It was scary. Of course, I was still so terribly attracted to you back then, but whenever a picture surfaces, I get a tinsy bit scared for Rachel." Kurt released his hand to grab the brightly colored drink that sat at the bar, "But I'm sure she would have enjoyed that too much." He smiled, laughing softly before taking a sip.

Dave laughed. He loved these moments. The start of Blaine and his relationship was rocky, or more like "Giant Boulders from hell". But after time, and many talks, things eased. Dave became more comfortable around Blaine, even more so after Kurt and Blaine amicably broke up and Blaine moved on. "Oh man," he said taking a long sip from his beer, "I almost wish I was friends with everyone at that time. That would have been a riot."

"Yeah, and Santana was just yelling 'I want you! I do!' at Rachel during the song," Blaine nodded as Kurt spoke of the Latina, "Which, is funny on it's own because she was so adamant about her heterosexuality at that time. We all knew. Mercedes told me she saw Britt and Santana talking, Artie knew Britt was cheating on him with Santana. I still don't understand why she acted so surprised when we were all 'We know' when she came out to us."

"I have to pee!" Blaine slid off his stool and bolted to the bathroom, listening to the laughter of Dave, Kurt, and Blaine's own date as he broke the seal. Moments later, after Kurt and Dave successfully questioned the new boyfriend to the best of their ability, Blaine came back, hopping back on to his stool.

"I thought for a second I'd have to break out the step-ladder for you," Dave said, laughing as he motioned to the tender to get him a new beer.

"Hey!"

"I can't help it that you're short!"

"I'm average-sized! I can't help it everyone else is tall!"

"Average! You're part asian! You're average in Asia!"

"You're a jerk!"

"And I could use your eyebrows as a parachute!"

"Take that back, Karofsky!"

"Not unless you take your mother back!"

"I'm sorry that she likes using your hair as a dish scrubber!" Blaine flailed his arms wildly, nearly knocking over Dave's drink.

"Hey!"

Kurt snorted at the display between the two men in his life. "Oh just stop it, you two." He went silent, wrapping his arms around Dave, burying his face in his shoulder. "Oh," he cooed, "I'm so happy you and Blaine like each other. The manly posturing you two did during high school was tiring."

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Dave smiled, his expression soft, "That ended a long time ago though. Blaine and I are good," he said, putting a fist out to brush against Blaine. He squealed, ecstatic over the slight display of, well, brotherly affection from Dave. Blaine was the unanimous vote to be best man at their wedding, after all.

"Mmm, I love you."

"You're drunk, but I love you too."

"I had one drink!"

"You've had 3."

"Oh... Well they taste like lollipops and I don't think that's very smart."

"I think Kurtyboo needs to be cut off!" Blaine interjected into the conversation.

"Blaine, I think I'm cutting you both off."

Charles, the new boyfriend, laughed as he nervously caught Blaine as he slipped off of the stool. "I'm fine!" he said, pushing the arms away. "Promise. I can handle more! I'm a big boy!"

"Like Daaveeyyy," Kurt giggled, slurring softly while Dave blushed.

"How big?" Blaine grinned, his words slurred, hoping for a bit of drunken gossip from his best friend.

"No! We're stopping there, and I'm taking his ass home." Dave's blush had steadily gotten to beat red in the few seconds of the conversation.

"I hope so!" Blaine giggled as Charles propped him up, replying he should do the same. Dave chuckled and said his good-byes, muttering to himself about how drunk these two get so quickly.

"Woah there, tiger. Save that for sobriety," Dave said softly, pushing away Kurt's drunken sexual advances as they walked tot he door of the bar. Kurt just giggled and swatted his hands away in defiance of being shut down by his boyfriend.

Walking outside, Dave only had a second to react before he had to pull a staggering Kurt out of traffic, "Don't do that! I almost had a heart attack, Kurt!" he half-yelled, the driver yelling obscenities as he drove off. Kurt just stood there, in Dave's arms, seeing a world that was not his own. Of unpaved streets and sullen, greyed skies.

xXxXxXx

" 'ey you! Kid! Git back here with that bread!" A lady let out a cry and looked around her as she almost toppled over, eyes wide. A group of dirty-faced children across the street from her just looked at her as if she were insane. Of course, they had not seen the figure that darted around her, crumbs falling in his wake and getting crushed under pale, dirt-ridden feet. The person running had pink tinted cheeks and hazel colored hair that looked as if it had not been washed in weeks. His plush lips were parted, dragging in air to his too-thin body as he darted around throngs of people who showed various classes of living through their garb and demeanor. He narrowly avoided crashing into a man bargaining at the fish stand, the gangly looking merchant woman leering at him as he ran.

Cian had been driven to England from his home, Ireland, due to the potato famine that had scourged the land. He could vividly remember the devastation around him. Children dying of illness or starvation. His family itself had lost a needed member there. Mother. It was when the times grew worse that Cian's father urged him to find his way to England. A place that would be better for him, and his only chance at survival. After weeks of the boy desperately trying to cling to his dad, the urges had finally become too much. The desperation in his father's voice had broken his heart, and Cian had come to a dreadful realization that if his Father died and did not have hope in his soul; that he would not be happy and would come to haunt the lands as a lost spirit.

Cian had not wanted that to be the case. So, he had finally slipped on what had then remained of his shoes, had ripped out a few of the measly vegetables they had managed to keep alive, and had run. He had haunted the ports for a long while, wandering tirelessly. He could still remember looking out to sea, watching the waves roll. If he tried hard enough, he could also remember the hope he had felt when he had seen those ships carrying goods, and people. After a few days of moping around and plotting (Cian had always been a very intelligent, cunning young man) he had found the ship that would carry him to what he had then thought would be a sanctuary. Cian could still recall the words etched into the rotting wood, 'SS Hope Song'. He had found the title to be perfect for his scenario. It had been too easy for him to slip in amongst some barrels of tea. Nobody had found him during the weeks it took to get to England; not even when he had to run to an old cannon hole so he could empty the meager contents of his stomach. Cian had never ridden on a ship before, and he was not used to the rolling of the sea.

Finally they had arrived in England. Cian had dashed away from the ship, hoping to see something fantastic as his father had dreamed. When he got to the streets though, he was crushed with feelings of disappointment and sadness. There were still people cluttered on the streets, begging for food with sallow cheeks, bellies distended and hands outstretched as if praying to God. People who looked like Cian. Of course, some of the people matched the stories his father had told. Here and there a gorgeous couple would walk together, hardly touching. The women had gorgeous clothing surrounding every inch of their bodies. Laced collars and frilled edges along colorful cloth. Cian had been absolutely entranced by the clothing. It was still something he was drawn to even as he ran with stolen, moldy bread clutched to his bony chest.

It was that obsession and easy distraction that led the young man to blindly run into the street, rocks cutting into the already scab-hardened soles of his feet. Cian did not even register that the sound screaming through his ears was the whiny of a terrified horse. He did turn his head though, to see why there was a strange pressure in his ears. Deep ebony fur flashed in his vision. Another series of cacophonous sounds followed horrendous events. The shrieks of a woman tumbling from the carriage. The "Ho! Hoes!" of a man decked in black that reminded Cian of death who was trying to calm what appeared to be a savage beast to Cian. It was, in truth, only a scared horse with rolling eyes and straining muscles. The bread he had worked so hard for, and clung to as he ran, tumbled from his bony fingers and fell to the ground, breaking into three moldy pieces; crumbs mingling with the dirt. Cian felt air rushing into his lungs and catching there, burning at his insides because he had forgotten how to breath as the events played out in slow motion, and he just stood there, glasz-colored eyes widened in sheer horror.

The young man only had mere seconds to react before he found himself running across the cobbled road, and finding a scared boy in his arms; the fish he was buying merely forgotten in the stall. He was too light, too easy to hold and it made the man's heart twinge at the sight. Dorian had found it too easy to want to take this child home and feed him and coddle him like a baby, which was frightening and strange to him since he tried not to make it a habit to try to save people. He knew the faces too much. Every day he saw them and every day he'd find himself wanting to leave his house less and less. He felt safe there, while here, out in the open, the contamination had spread so easily, so rapidly. Dorian was a doctor, and had a small fortune left behind from his father who had passed recently. He found himself wanting to brush the hair from the boy's face but he caught himself.

Hoisting the boy up without a moments notice, he made sure he safely made it to the side of the street before he set him down. He was fighting the urge to pat the dirt from his clothes, but he knew that that was a lost cause. The clothes were far beyond care now. His shoes barely hanging on and there seemed to be new patches on his trousers and vest. His eyes flickered across the street to the lady managing the fish stall, her annoyed huff causing him to shrug his shoulders in an apology. The way the boy was standing made Dorian feel even taller than him, even if he was only a few inches taller. A thought flashed through his mind that made him feel inferior because a child was almost his height but he quickly stifled it. The woman from the carriage quickly forgotten, just like the hat Dorian had been wearing. He assumed it was in the streets, currently crumpled beneath a cart but long from the forefront of his mind.

He remembered that seeing kids like this is what made him want to be a doctor. Aside from trying to help the ill, he wanted to help the needy and this boy screamed "Help me". The discarded mold-riddled bread in the street was an indication. Dorian didn't need to stop by this particular market. There was a perfectly okay one on the other side of town, where the poor didn't choke the streets. But the snobbery of the elite did. Dorian was just high class enough that the poor didn't look up to him, but the rich didn't look down on him. He wasn't from around here, having moved to this little village on the coast shortly after his father died, seeking solitude. But somehow he managed to create enough recognition that people noticed him, but his ruse of crankiness kept them at bay. Only his patients would make remarks about the gentle man who'd join them at their bedsides, gently coaxing them through their illnesses. Grown woman were already regaling to their children, spouses, and friends the stories of the man who'd sat there as they screamed in pain, his face and actions relaxed as he spoke to them calming them, working them through the ordeal. He already had women coming from around the island, seeking his care.

He looked down, hoping to make eye contact. A flash of brilliant gemstone eyes met his for a moment before looking away again. "You okay there, kid?" he asked gently, the urge to pat the dirt from him rising again, but repeatedly, he quelled it. Cian had to stop himself from making a scathing comment on his real age. He also had to stomp on the pride that attempted to burst from his mouth via the words "I did not need you to save me." Instead of saying them, he quickly caught his tongue and spun his thoughts so that he could give the man a somewhat civil answer.

"I am fine," he breathed out in a voice that would not indicate he had gone through the stages of manhood. The young Irish man was not used to being able to trust other's, and depend on them to be chivalrous and kind. He was used to being kicked, shoved, and jostled about like a piece of the wax paper used to wrap fish from the market. In truth, to him, it would make sense to just sprint away from the person who had pulled him away from the flailing hooves of a scared horse. Why hope for more than that? The people of this world were cruel, especially the ones who showed sign of having a fair share of currency. Cian knew that he needed to express gratitude. This man could easily have him shackled. "Thank you, for pulling me out of the way. I was...distracted." Cian could not say he had been eying the clothes of a woman. He had received his fair share of torment for expressing his sexual preference in Ireland, and had thus kept it to himself while in this new land. It was not that he was afraid, but more-so that he just did not say it directly to anyone because it was not pertinent information to disclose. Besides, most of his contact with other humans lasted five minutes or less as he worked open their pouches and pockets for change.

Cian stepped back from Dorian, looking at him with slightly squinted eyes, as if taking him in and storing him for memory. "I must be away now." He only managed to back away a few more steps before his legs gave out. He had not eaten for quite some time, and thieving had become much more complicated as more and more children and poor adults gathered on the streets. The bread Cian had been holding onto so dearly would have been the only thing he had eaten in six days. Not to mention the fact that the only water he had gotten into his system was the rain water gathered in a puddle two evenings ago.

Cian pulled his legs under his chin as the fall ached up his rear-end and settled into the lower muscles of his back. He knew his fair skin would bruise under the thin cloth of the capri-like pants he had on. Once upon a time, he had also sported his father's page-boy hat. His body had started to quiver with weakness, and his slightly swollen belly rumbled viciously. Cian just rested his forehead on his kneecaps. He expected the man who had rescued him to simply leave. He hoped that the bread-seller was not still hot on his trail, driven closer by the wreckage of the carriage next to him. Cian did not think he would be able to run any longer.

Dorian frowned slightly and crouched down to be in the eyesight of Cian. "It is in my honest, and purely scholarly opinion, that you, young sir, are not fine. But I can see how anyone could be distracted by the sound that your body emitted." His face softened and for a second, his mind likened the poor boy to an orphaned cat he had found as a small child. The cat, which his father had lovingly named Crackers (His father cracked many jokes about how the cat looked like it could have broken as easily as a cracker when it first came in to their possession), had become somewhat of a notorious neighborhood rat killer. Constantly showing it's thanks in the form of deceased rodents throughout his childhood. "I won't hurt you," he added, whispering.

He only had a moment before the woman who worked the bread stall came flying around the corner, screaming wildly, like a jilted banshee. Dorian could see a flicker of panic cross Cian's eyes and before he let the boy react, he stood directly in the path between the maddened woman and the boy. "That child! He has more fleas than the port's ducks, that one there does!" She was waving around whatever she could managed to have grabbed before she bolted from her stall, and it seemed to have been a shoe. At some point in it's life at least. "I am sick out of my mind with having to chase him away! Every week! I'm going to get you-"

"No. You won't," Dorian replied calmly. Stepping back he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "This one is my charge. He was only doing what I told him to do. You see, it's all a clever ruse. And I detect you'll stop caring soon. How's your son? He doing okay?" Dorian's smile was sickeningly sweet. He knew to play this card, he knew everyone in this village. Mostly at least, as he was unable to recall who the boy was but that was only a momentary setback. He knew her. People had called her "Blind Tori" but in fact she wasn't blind in eyesight, but blind in rage. And long ago she stopped many people from calling her Tori, as her real name was "Victoria", people felt is was ill-fitting for such an ill-mannered lady.

"Right. I don't have time for this. I'm sure some clever-" she said, the word dripping with infliction, "little street rat stole more of my precious wares. On you way." Her eyes squinted and her lips puckered as she crossed her arms over her dirtied smock. Turning on her heels, she quickly disappeared into the hustle of the busy streets.

Dorian's stance straightened slightly before he turned to the boy, "I ask this again," He crouched once more, bringing himself to the boys reduced height, "Are you okay?" His voice softer in the conclusion of the question. Cian stared up at him with awe gleaming in his eyes. He quickly disposed of the emotion and hope though, clearing his face into a more stoic expression. Cian was afraid to show any form of emotion to anyone. He had been like that since the passing of his mother.

"I am fine," he repeated. "Please go about your business. Thank you, once again, for your help. I'm sure she will catch me when I try again next week." Cian made rounds on his thieving excursions. He would steal from the bread-seller on Saturdays and Wednesdays. He did not steal on Sundays. It was not for a fear of the God most of the Irish believed in (for a lot of the population was Catholic), but simply because people did not tend to work on those days. On Mondays and Thursdays he stole from the fish mongers, and on Tuesdays and Fridays he stole from the fruit stand. Cian tried to steal only the rotting or meek looking food products because he felt bad stealing from them. Hunger was a fiendish feeling though, unable to be ignored. He was weary of Dorian, afraid he would take him for slavery or something else, using the two rescues against him. In Cian's opinion, the faster he could get away from everyone there, the better.

"At this point in time, I don't think I'm going to allow a next week thievery to happen," Dorian took a moment to asses the state of the boy in front of him. Clearly he was tired and hungry but he had a lot of fire on his soul. "At this rate you could be dead in a week or two and I can't rightly let that happen, now can I? Why save you from the jowls of angry women when I could have just as easily saved you from your hunger and associated displeasantries? I'm sure you crave a bath and a proper meal or two; or perhaps a dozen or so? Am I misinformed?" His lips tightened into a half-hearted smirk. He wasn't going to let him run so easily, even if he could run. "I'm going to give you some choices. You don't get a choice in destination; merely choice in transportation. One, you can walk, and judging by how easily your legs gave out moments ago, and the state of your feet, I can safely say that is nigh out of the question. Two, I can turn around and you can climb onto my back and hold on tightly as we make our way. Or Three, I can pick you up and carry you in my arms like you're some wounded maiden I merely rescued from dragons and the like. Maybe I'll give you a say in the matter of your bath temperature; or even what you'll be eating, but we're going to my home because it's safer there. And you won't have to nick food to sustain your life." He smiled now, gentler than before, "I already said I won't hurt you. I'm a doctor by trade. I just want to help."

Dorian tried to squelch the feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was like a fire erupted. He stood up quickly, his offer laid out neatly in the air. But the sudden rush of standing up so quickly brought back the feeling. One he hadn't felt since his schoolboy days, something that wasn't so easy to ignore. It disoriented him for a second, as he recalled the boy he locked eyes with all those years ago. But that was then and things have changed since then. Dorian felt like he had accomplished something by forgetting about that time. For a moment he wanted to blame the boy for bringing those memories and feelings back to him, but he chided himself and told himself that it wasn't the boy's fault. Cian stared up at him the whole time he spoke, a variance of emotions flickering across his face that he swiftly tried to quell. He stood up slowly, and despite hating how weak it made him seem, he reached out to grab onto Dorian's sleeve. He felt terrible when the cloth was marked by the dirt he carried. But Dorian didn't notice the scuff on his clothes, only how electric his skin felt for the moment.

"I suppose I will take the option of riding on your back, then, and holding onto you." Cian was too proud to be carried like some woman, and Dorian was correct in assuming he could not walk. "If you think you can handle carrying me, that is." He could not help the fiery retort and challenge. Dorian snorted out a laugh and smiled, quiet. Cian was not used to dealing with people who acted in a more proper, kind way than the one's he had dealt with. The snarky comments ended falling passed his lips without his control because he was used to keeping up a shield that would almost seem rude and ungrateful. He walked around shakily to the man's backside, and then gently placed his palms on top of the other's shoulders. "Would you mind bending down for me?" When the other did, Cian used what little energy he had left to push himself up, quickly wrapping his lean, long legs around the man's waist. It reminded him of being a child, sitting high up on his father's shoulders when the times were good.

"Fiery one, aren't ya?" He let out a soft laugh and tucked his hands underneath the boy's knees, holding him in place. "Right. Onward." Dorian stood up slowly, his grip on the boy tightened. "It's only a short walk home. Well my home. You can call it home too, it doesn't matter much to me. I mean, it does matter, but it's your choice if you do. Clearly, I'm not about to allow you back on the streets after this," Dorian clamped his mouth shut. He was rambling; a trait that he tried to avoid when he found himself in certain situations. He normally went silent, but with someone attached to his body at the moment, he felt like that wasn't the time nor place. "I'm Dorian, by the way. Doctor Dorian, but just call me Dorian because you're not my patient." Oh, shut up, the voice in his head spat out and once more Dorian went silent. Dorian started to let his mind wander and he focused on how light the boy felt. He wondered how long he had been living like this, why he was living like this... and just how much longer he could have lived like that before something happened. Dorian mentally shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. They had only just left the marketplace. It was still at least 15 more minutes to walk back to his house on the other side of the painfully small village.

Cian simply tightened himself around the other man. He found himself enjoying the rumbles from the other's voice, and thought it was cute how he rambled. He had to get rid of those thoughts swiftly though, scared of them. Although the hangings of homosexuals had stopped, the tales still frightened him. Not to mention the Catholic virtues and lessons he had been brought up in. "My name is Cian." He did not choose to disclose his last name to the other. Cian almost felt as if he had no last name anymore, because all of his family was gone. He lived in a new world. A new life that was oddly similar to the life he had lived before making his way over to England. Cian had only been alive for barely seventeen years in Ireland before he left. He had survived in England for nearly four years. Cian had never had a high education as he was supposed to, because Ireland had been in such a bad state when he had left. He knew that he looked younger than his real age though, and he had no urge to correct Dorian's thoughts on his age. After all, Cian was considered a man. A man who, in all technicality should have been married a few years back. He was under the impression that Dorian was only bringing him home because he felt bad for an orphaned child. Cian was no mooch, and he hated to be thought of as pathetic. He swore he could handle himself. The help felt nice though, and he did not really have a choice. He could not wait to see what kind of home this Doctor lived in. After all, Doctor's supposedly had quite a bit of money compared to people of Cian's class.

Time passed quickly, or as quickly as a walk through a city could be with a human being on your back. Which, admittedly, was much slower than one would hope. But Dorian was, as his father oh so lovingly stated, built like an ox. Through the hike up the small hill that separated the classes in the village, Dorian would bring plants to the attention of Cian, telling him the name and the ailments he'd have to use them for. If the need ever arose, which he silently hoped it would never, he could use them and essentially be his own apothecary. He hadn't even known Cian for a full day and here he was trusting him with his entire knowledge of what plants save and what ones kill. He didn't plan on it; it was just coming out of his mouth in strings and phrases.

Cian had tried to store all of the information Dorian told him in the back of his mind. It was all rather useful, and maybe some day he would be able to use that information to pursue a career that would ensure that he never lived a life like the one he had lived until recently, again.

While Cian was thinking carefully and filing facts away, Dorian was doing everything he could that would stop him from shifting his hands again. Moments before his left hand found a small hole on the underside of Cian's knees. His thumb barely flashed against Cian's skin. Deliberately, he shifted his hands away from the location. Skin, he touched human skin for the first time in years and the doctor in him just let him feel something more than common compassion. No, he couldn't let himself give in, as easy as it felt. He remembered the hanging that the lady who watched over him as a child made him watch. He still remembers the cries of the men. They hung them both. Strung up just far apart that they couldn't take the others hands and have some last bit of comfort before death came.

It sent a shiver down Dorian's spine. He hated that time. The hangings stopped for the "sin of homosexuality", but that didn't stop the shunning. The whispers behind closed doors. That friendliness that was a smidgen above cold and distant. Dorian already got messages from would-be suitors. Grown daughters of middle-aged woman who lived mere steps from his house. He denied them every time, but the rumors still grew. Dorian rarely fought back.

"Ah. Here we are," he shuffled a second, unlocking a hand from it's grip before he opened the door to his medium-sized house. "If you had any other way of life, I'd say it isn't much. But I know it must feel like a castle to you. You'd even have your own room," He smiled and let Cian climb off of him before he helped him sit down in a chair by the dwindling fire. "With a bed," he added swiftly with a chuckle.

"I have not seen a real bed in years. Something that is not made of the stones and dirt of the ground, or piled papers from the various markets a few of us stole from." It felt strange for him to be talking of the life he had left only minutes ago as if it were years away. Then again, Cian did not want to think that he had led a life like that at all. He pulled his legs up onto the chair and tucked them under his chin with a soft sigh. "I do not mean to be forward, but...sir, I was wondering if perhaps you...well, if I could maybe be allowed a piece of bread?" Cian was absolutely ravenous, and his stomach ached from how much he needed food, along with his brain. His head had been pounding for the past two days, merely from lack of nutrients and sugars. Things that kept the blood pressure at an appropriate level. He was already so thankful for all that Dorian had provided him with, it felt strange to ask for even more. Not to mention the fact that he felt odd asking for any sort of help. It made his prideful nature scream at him and pout like a five year old.

Dorian sat down in the chair opposite of Cian and let himself think a moment before he spoke carefully, "I admit, this is odd. And never in a lifetime would I have thought that I'd have picked some poor boy off the streets and bring him home. But here you are." He let out a breathe that was lost somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, "You must be terrified. It's terrifying to me to be in this house and I live here. I can't imagine how you feel." He went silent and leaned back in to the chair, it creaking softly as it settled. His eyes flickered to Cian, studying him, but only for a moment before they returned to a spot on the floor.

"But just bread?" Dorian asked softly, his brow wrinkled softly, "I gave you freedom of what to eat and you ask for bread? I could go to the lady down the road- Oh she's pleasant, you'd enjoy her company- and get freshly made goats cheese. Or milk. I could go down the other street to this man and he'd pass off potatoes and carrots. Or even farther and this young maid would pass off fruits and fresh jam. And you ask for bread?" He smiled, "You do not need to ask like you're not allowed." Dorian's eyes softened. He tried to place himself in Cian's shoes, or lack-there-of really. How would he react if a strange man had saved him from an untimely fate and brought him to his home without a say in he matter? Would he be sitting, curled up into himself, just asking for bread like a shy field mouse asking a cat for cheese?

He did not want Dorian simply thinking it was some knight-in-shining armor syndrome. If Dorian even liked men. "I suppose some jam would be nice, I used to love jam very much. Fruits as well. If you don't mind, I would prefer not to go with you. People would be under the impression that I am a defenseless young orphan you plucked up and would pity me. I do not need pity, I am perfectly independent." Cian hated the fact that he was independent though, because he so dearly loved his family. Even if he had taken care of them instead of taking care of himself which made him independent anyway.

Cian blinked at him a long moment, taking in the bulky frame of the Doctor. He was clearly a healthy man, and strong. Strong enough to keep Cian safe from harm, which was something Cian always found alluring. He shook his head, trying not to be too obvious about his sexual orientation just yet. It wasn't that he was not proud of it, merely timid about letting it on to a man who had just saved his life. "Plus, I would not like to make my first impression as your...assistant in this type of clothing. So if you would be so kind as to purchase me appropriate attire, I would gladly attend future outings with you." Cian was poor, but he spoke as if he lived amongst the well-to-do. He had listened very intently to those who had come about wearing the outfits and carrying the goods he so desired and loved.

"Right. I'll contact the tailor in town. He owes me a favor anyways. I'll head out in a moment to Anna, the sweet girl who will get me the fruits and jams- You'll like her too, exuberant, but almost to the point where it tires me to be in her company for too long. If you'd like, you can freshen up. Discard those... well, I don't mean to insult you, but they are rags, barely that. I'll find something for you wear in the meanwhile, although you might just look like a drowned rat. I'm sure a neighbor has a teenage son with clothes he's willing to part with." He stood and absently-mindedly brushed down the wrinkles from sitting. He smiled, noting that Cian was taking extra time to not only avoid eye contact with Dorian, but he put extra effort into his manner of words. He smiled briefly and disappeared for a moment, returning from his room with his meager attempt at finding smaller clothes. He only managed to procure a plain white sleeping shirt. Having taken a small pit-stop in the kitchen, he handed Cian the shirt and a plate that contained some bread and jam and a small tankard of milk.

"I apologize, it's all I have. The shirt is too large for you, I know this. The bread is slightly stale, but it's only 3 days old. The jam is strawberry, which is from weeks ago, so I assume Anna made new since. I hope it's peach. But uh..." He quieted, running a hand over his head, smoothing his hair down. "You can bathe one of two ways. There is a river nearby that pools into a reasonable depth. It's relatively secluded. Or we can work on heating the water and you can take a warm bath. It's your choice. I'll be off, but I'll be back in no more than an hour. And Cian?" Dorian smiled and ruffled the boy's hair, "You don't have to try so hard to talk like an upper-class cad. I do it out of habit of job. You are only you and no one else."

Cian snatched his head away from Dorian's hand, eyebrows pulling down and the right nostril of his nose pulling up in an expression of disgust. "Don't do that," he said quickly. It made him feel like a child, and he was not one. Then again, Cian realized that he should still try to act like one. Dorian thought he was younger than he was, and Cian did not want to ruin his chance to stay in this wonderful home with a man who offered to feed and cloth him. "And I want to talk like a member of the upper class. I enjoy their terms and their intriguing outfits."

He very gently took the bread and shirt from Dorian, the corners of his lips twitching up and his eyes lighting with excitement despite how he was trying to keep a calm demeanor about him. "Thank you for this." Cian stood then and set the food down on the chair. "If you do not mind, I'm going to change." When the statement was met without protest (not that Cian really would have paid attention if there were) he wandered into another room. There, he removed his rags in favor of slipping into the night shirt. He knew they were supposed to be big, but the thing was even larger than normal on him. Cian actually found it to feel nice. He was not going to complain about the fact that he was wearing a nicely made shirt. Even if the tails hung around his thighs and made him feel very exposed in ways that would not be acceptable if he were to go outside. They probably were not acceptable inside. The neck kept slipping off of a slender shoulder, and Cian kept pulling it up. There was a blush on his cheeks that he could not fight off when he came back into the room they had been occupying together.

Dorian was true to his word and it took him no more than an hour to do his errands like he told Cian. He returned with only a pair of trousers and worn shoes, which were already a step up from Cian's previous set, along with a bag full of food. "I'm sorry. Charles could only part with these, but it's better than nothing. Tuesday afternoon the tailor will arrive to take your measurements." He barely noticed Cian sitting in the chair as he hustled to the kitchen, dropping the satchel. Wandering back to the main room he muttered something about the clothes and perched the trousers on the chair's arm. His eyes found Cian and his words halted. Smooth pale skin, Dorian's barely working mind told him it was creamy like milk. The only marks on his skin were from every day walking and moving, he seemed blemish free. Angelic.

"I uh... I'll start a fire? Yes, you seem cold. I uh... right," He muttered, his heart skipping frantically. He told himself that nothing could ever happen; Cian is a child, and now in his care. But... No, he wouldn't let his mind wander. He hurriedly started stacking logs, hoping to stop his mind. Cian simply watched him move about, a little worried about his suddenly inadequate manner of speaking. Dorian had seemed at least semi-eloquent in his vocabulary, but suddenly all of that had disappeared. Perhaps the other man was just tired from a long day. He looked at the clothes that had been settled beside him with a small frown. They weren't as elaborate and fancy as Cian had hoped, but the man resigned himself to the fact that he would have to put up with them until the tailor arrived.

"Thank you for letting your day be interrupted by me. Actually, your whole life since you seem to have taken me in. It means a lot, even if I do not appear grateful." Cian decided they better clear that up immediately, because he knew that once he started receiving things, he was not going to stop demanding them, even if he was scared Dorian would disown him immediately and consider him to be ungrateful. Cian slipped out of the chair gracefully, carrying the pants under his arm. He was actually rather comfortable in just the shirt, other than his nervousness about the sheer amount of exposed skin and how the shirt could easily ride up and reveal parts of him that he did not yet wish for Dorian to see. Cian soon donned the pants and emerged once more. He was sure he looked rather ridiculous in a mix of hand-me-down clothing, but anything was better than his previous garb.

Dorian was staring intently in to the barely started fire. The small flames eagerly licking the logs. "I'm sorry for how I was a moment ago. I wasn't ready to see such uh... sight. I am not.. used to being so close to someone, physically that is," he added quickly. "As a doctor I can put that mask on, so to say. Where it's only what ails the person and I, and not us as two humans. But seeing someone so meagerly dressed, it startled me. Not that it was wrong. I should have expected it, but my body reacted as such," Dorian sighed, his eyes never leaving the flame and his thoughts racing. Dorian tried telling himself that even if Cian appeared to be younger, he was still male. As much as that was what Dorian wanted, he didn't know Cian's views, if he thought the same. He knew what he wanted.

Every fiber in his body was already lusting out to just touch the boy.

Dorian wanted to trace every soft curve, and not that he was implying Cian was soft. Just softer than himself. While Dorian would describe himself as a flowerless rose bush, Cian was the thorn-less roses.

"I must retire for the night. I have a busy day tomorrow. There is plenty of bread, fruits, jam and cheese in the kitchen. Help yourself if you so see fit," he stood up, his eyes cloudy as he made his way over to Cian. He gently clapped a hand on his shoulder, "I hope that when you finally reacquaint yourself with the bed, that it is pleasant. If you need me, my room is only one away from yours. I'm a rather light sleeper, so it won't take much to rouse me, but do not fear waking me if you require my assistance" He paused, reconsidering his phrase. "Yes, I believe that would be a proper word. Now, I must bid you goodnight, Cian" and with one final shoulder pat, Dorian left the room, Cian, and the crackling fire behind him, letting only a crack of his door remain open.

Cian only remained alone in the main room for a few minutes before he uncurled himself from the chair he had settled in. The touch of the man's palm and the curve of his fingers against Cian's skin remained and made him ache. He only wished that he could make Dorian see that he was indeed not a boy, but a man. A man who yearned for the contact of another male in a society that looked down on such with disgrace. He was soon in his new room, the room that was given to a boy rather than a man. Cian thought it nice. Not quite as elaborate as the things of his dreams, but acceptable. As soon as his sore body was laid out on the bed, Cian was fast asleep. The years of hard rests and nights unslept seemed to seek his mind with vengeance and veil him in the hardest sleep he had ever experienced. Not even the nightmares seemed to register in his mind as he let himself sway in what was thought to be a parallel between life and death. When morning came on the voices of song-birds, Cian did not stir as he usually would. Not even when the sun rose high in the sky and cast it's blinding light directly onto his face did he wake. Instead the man remained curled and wrapped in the cloths of bed linen, snoring mildly in his warm, rare comforts.

Dorian wasn't as lucky. He spent the night tossing and turning, feeling like the bed was made of coarse burlap. His mind was filled to the brim. Go check on Mr. Anderson's son. Check on Flynn's fishing wound. Visit the tailor. Cian's skin. Visit Amelia and check on her daughter. Cian's eyes. Cian's lips. Check for wares at the market. Cian's voice. Cian... In less than a day, Dorian knew he never wanted to be without Cian. When the sun finally started to rise in the sky, he quietly started to get his morning rituals going. Freshen up, have a slice of still warm bread that the baker had dropped off before sunrise, (The day before he asked her if she'd have someone run out to him and drop off a fresh loaf. Dorian loved the smell of fresh bread and longed for the day where he felt he was capable to do it himself, not wanting to rely on women to do it.) and enjoy a strong cup of tea before he ran his errands for the day.

Only for a second did he let himself get distracted and pushed Cian's door open softly, cursing the slight squeak. 'Just to make sure he's safe,' he told himself, to quiet the voice in his heart. Dorian internally yelled at himself, taking too much time to notice Cian's skin in the sunrise's light and the soft tousle of his bed-mussed hair. Satisfied, he silently pulled on his shoes and left without a trace aside from a small note telling Cian he'll be home for lunch but won't be done with his day until hours later.

xXxXxXx

For a while, things were simple like this. Dorian would leave before Cian would wake, come home for lunch, then finally come home a few hours later for the night and spend the evening chatting with Cian and getting to know him. His past and his hopes for the future, key details of sexuality, love, and sex left out, and also of Cian's true age.

On weekends, or on days Cian would go out of his way and force Dorian to take an afternoon off, Dorian and Cian would walk about the city. Dorian would introduce Cian to members of society and his normal patients. Amelia, being his oldest, and her 4 kids all born with Dorian in the room, all born within his stay in the city. "Sometimes, I think her and her husband need new a new activity. I feel like I've seen her pregnant more than I have without child." Mr. James Anderson and his youngest son Richard. Richard was born frail, but was always full of exuberance. James was very adamant about how he didn't favor Richard over his other sons and his daughters. Dorian was always quick to come to his defense and say it was merely concern of his son, and not favoritism.

Some might call their lives simple, but it was comfortable. It was their life, and it was a life that they very easily fell into, the days repeating, but relished. Dorian and Cian grew much closer through the few months they lived together. The duo rarely squabbled, the only heated discussion would be as to what jam to get, if there were choices. Cian would harp on Dorian about his long work days and how it was going to drain him, Dorian would respond with a remark about how every day Cian didn't have to clean because he wasn't that dirty, the pair of them weren't dirty. But that was, on most days, the culminations of any discrepancies in their, seemingly, familial relationship.

Of course, the day would come when those menial arguments would grow into something bigger. Cian was a very clever young man. He was in tune with his surroundings, and knew what his heart desired. He knew every change he felt in his body, in his heart. A person who had lived a life of turmoil had to know those things, of course. In order to protect a change that could be seen as weakness. A change such as the one Cian was experiencing. He was out of the space of time where his affections could be a symptom of his being saved. He knew for certain that he was very much falling in love with Dorian. Of course, Cian would not admit that to the other man. Not yet. Instead, he hid it because he was scared to make himself vulnerable like that. Scared to approach the next level and find himself rejected and removed from the home. Although he was almost sure Dorian would not do that to him. So instead, Cian grew steadily more frustrated at having to hold the new emotions at bay. He grew frustrated at the fact that Dorian thought him so young, and that he was hiding it.

Then, an idea struck the younger male. Why not start out with something small? Something that might help him ensure that Dorian would let him stay. A subject Cian had been so afraid of breaching that seemed so trivial in light of his new revelation about himself and his feelings. Taking a few steps at a time would help him work up the gall to breach this new found worry that gnawed at his gut. The worry that he loved Dorian, but that the man would not return it. Knocking the age factor out would help Cian start to get over his fears, would relieve some frustration, and would get rid of one of Dorian's potential hesitance because of age. With that plan in mind, Cian waited for Dorian to get home from his day of work, ready to reveal something rather major to the man who had thought he was offering his home to some measly, pathetic child.

Cian would have never expected Dorian's feelings mirrored his own. Little did Cian know, that every night, Dorian would find himself laying in bed, a large hand clamped over his eyes in deep thought and frustration over his growing lust for the boy. He'd grow silent during some of the nights they spent talking in the main room, too drawn in by the boy's animated stories about Ireland and his friends back there. Finding himself falling deeper every time the boy would laugh, his face contorted in happiness. Sometimes, Cian would look over and Dorian would find himself dropping the smile he grew in his presence, to a more neutral facade.

Dorian sighed as he opened the door to their house, the day making him more tired that usual. He stifled a yawn and greeted Cian, who sat in the chair he normally found himself sitting in, by the fire. Dropping his bag and his coat on the table that occupied the kitchen, he nearly collapsed in to the chair opposite of Cian. "Today was too long," he muttered, "Flynn, that blundering oaf, somehow managed to get several hooks stuck in his hand. The idiot. I sometimes wonder how he makes it through a day alive."

Cian played the role of looking amused. Normally he would not have to play, but his palms have begun to sweat and he let out only a small smile. "Well, he is Flynn. What can you expect?" He fell silent after that, swallowing a few times. Finally, Cian worked up his nerves and steeled himself for the worst. "I have something very important to tell you. It might shatter your trust in me just a little bit, but I believe now is the time to tell you."

Dorian shifted in his chair, leaning towards Cian slightly, "Oh? Believe me when I say it takes much work to shatter trust when it's already been made." As calm as Dorian acted, his mind was the opposite. It ran through a plethora of possible things that Cian had to tell Dorian, each worst than the last. He was moving out? No, Cian said it would break his trust, so that wasn't it. Had he been stealing from him the past few months? Dorian never noticed so he crossed that out. "Oh, you're not actually a woman are you?" Dorian faked a frowned and laughed lightly. "Although I don't think that is the case. What's bothering you?"

Cian laughed out loud. "No, no. I'm not a woman. Actually, I'm not a little boy, either. I'm twenty, Dorian." After he said it, a brief flash of fear crossed his features before he quickly schooled his face back to normal. He still felt a plummet in his chest, and an ache in his belly at the idea of Dorian turning him away, but he could not show the man that. He just could not.

Dorian didn't show it, but he was slightly happy. Not ecstatic, but nor was he disappointed in Cian. He realized that this could work out, in a matter of speaking, better. Dorian now didn't feel guilty over his attraction to Cian since Cian wasn't a boy, but a man like he. "I suppose..." he slouched back in to his chair, thinking for a moment, "I suppose everyone has to do what they have to. You didn't lie to me, that much is for sure. You merely avoided. Which isn't a lie, because you never said anything. Neither confirmed or denied, so I cannot hold your choices against you. You did what you had to do. But now," He smiled and stood up, "But now that I know your true age, the least you can do is not lurk around the house while I'm at work." He laughed softly, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Cian cocked his head, a little perplexed. His eyes lit up with happiness though, which he knew he might end up showing but couldn't bear to hide it away again. Then the gaze faltered. "You want me to work?" He was not quite understanding that Dorian was merely joking. Thinking that the other considered it to be mooching passed a certain age, which it was. "I could... I could be your assistant, if you would have me. I remember all of those plants that you showed me on the way here perfectly, and in order." Cian looked hopeful as he made that suggestion. The situation did not erupt into tragic flames as he had predicted, but instead went as well as they possibly could. That gave him confidence. Confidence that maybe someday he would be able to get the same results when it came to sexuality. His sexuality, and his feelings toward Dorian that weren't even truly based on gender. Although Dorian was attractive, Cian had fallen in love after getting to know him. His stories and his personality.

He laughed again, heartier this time. "I was only joking, Cian. You don't have to go out and work yourself to the bone. I mean go out. Wander this side of the city. It is your own now too. There is land in the back of the house, make a garden, perhaps. Even make a garden of those plants if it eases your soul. I don't need an assistant, I have people running to help me most days. But a friend is what I need. A confidant. As much as I would enjoy working with you, I think it's infinitely more enjoyable to come home to you and share what happened in the day.

Don't you think it would be boring? Work is tiring and tragic, especially in my field. Keep your innocence, or what you do have, and be carefree." His smile never left his face and he felt like his heart was lighter. Dorian's mind raced. Cian wasn't a boy; but a man. Cian wasn't a boy. But a man. A man in his house, under his roof. Could he... No. It was very unlikely that Cian shared the same views on love like he. But still, he had hope. He had fallen in love with Cian nearly at first sight. But all his life he pined over men he could never have. Men too scared or married. But yet he pined over Cian. Cian clapped his hands together, eyes lighting up in excitement.

"A garden! I could make a garden here? In your home? That would be wonderful! Oh, thank you!" Cian had always had a knack for designing, and planning out a garden's landscape went right along with that. Now he knew the names of all the flowers he could use to make the place pretty. "I do not wish to explore the city on my own though. Not now that I have someone who could show me around?" Was that too forward? Too romantic?

Dorian raised an eyebrow and smirked, "My home? Cian, this house is as much as home to you as it is to me. Don't make it too pretty though, you could attempt to grow some vegetables too." Dorian went silent as a moment, returning to the chair and sitting down, mumbling to himself as he fumbled with his shoes, finally annoyed with wearing them for the day. "Ahh, much better," He said, sighing with contentment. He chuckled softly at Cian, "Are you asking me if I'll be your guide around the area?" Cian blushed at that.

"If you wouldn't mind showing me around, yes. That would be wonderful. And why can't I make the garden too pretty?" He didn't realize how much that statement could give him away. Give away his sexuality. Cian grabbed the other man's shoes and quickly settled them against the door, not wanting the room to be a mess.

Dorian laughed, finding the combination of Cian's question and him moving his shoes far too funny and even cute. "No, silly. I said don't make it too pretty. You can make it pretty, but we could use some... well useful things too. Think of the garden like... someone you're courting." Dorian smiled at himself, at the ridiculousness of the comparison. "You hope, well I hope at least, that the person is beautiful on the outside as well as in. Like, speaking to someone outstandingly gorgeous, only to find out they've got a rotted brain and aren't very smart." He sighed and ran a hand through his curly locks, "Perhaps it is a tad shallow, but that's how I see it." Cian seemed to think about that.

"That does make quite a bit of sense. I was planning to use only the plants you showed me. Vegetables can be included as well though, if you wish. It would cut some of the expenses you use for me." Cian still felt bad that the other was paying his way. He could do things for himself! This was the perfect opportunity to earn his keep. "I don't think that's shallow," Cian admitted softly. He sat himself down in the chair next to Dorian, ready for their nightly relaxation. It was always better when Dorian was home. Cian was sure he was very attached to the other man. In love with him, even, although it was frightening.

"If I could reach, and felt like my hands were expendable, I'd probably muss your hair right now." Dorian let out a soft sigh, and leaned back, relaxing. The long day finally started to catch up. "Don't feel guilty for living under my roof. Your companionship is enough for me. I only said that because I thought, maybe boredom would set in sooner or later and you'd want to do something," Dorian said as he fought a yawn. Looking over at Cian, his eyes soft as a grin grew on his face. A smile he tried so hard on most days to fight off. A smile that only showed when he looked at Cian. But he was far too tired today. Far too worn out to yell at himself. "For the first time in a very long time, I think I could be on the way to being a happy person," Dorian said, his voice barely above than a whisper. "Thanks to you."

Cian's cheeks turned a pale shade of pink under the praising words. "If you're tired, you should rest," he finally said. He did not linger on the comments as he wanted to because he was afraid he would be looking too far into them. "All I can really say is thank you. I will only feel guilty for as long as I live here without doing anything to help or express my gratitude." He stood after that, stretching his arms up. "If you don't mind, I myself am starting to be called for sleep. Have a good night." Cian was actually the opposite of tired. His brain was worked up, going overtime as he tried to figure various things out.

Dorian nodded, "Ah yes. Good night then." He yawned, rubbing a large hand over his face before he too found himself walking to this room and nearly collapsing on his bed. Life was surprisingly good. Dorian was content, and he had hoped, and had reason to believe, that Cian was happy with his life too. He laid in bed for a while, his mind not letting him sleep as much as his body was begging to. He recalled the tinge of pink Cian's face changed in to. A slight nervousness creeped up on Dorian. Did he overstep any boundaries? Was that small comment too much? Did he give himself away? Dorian clapped a hand on his face and groaned. It was a long day.

They fell back in to routine just the next day, but days later, Dorian found himself pulling closer to Cian, even though he was more afraid of messing up than he was before. He just hoped that a situation were he couldn't control himself didn't arise.

But sooner or later the perfect storm would hit and waves would crash against the shore.

xXxXxXx

Cian loved his new garden. He had started planting the moment he could get his hands on some seeds, which he ended up stealing because he felt bad asking for the money to get them, although he did not tell Dorian, and hoped the man did not find out. The man tended to it every day. He had carrots, tomatoes, and lettuce along with various medicinal plants and beautiful flowers for decor purposes. Even the fact that the sun brought a sweat to his skin did not bother him, and for some reason he always burned and never tanned. Cian did not even mind the feel of dirt under his nails because he knew he could rid himself of that easily, and could always bathe to rid his skin of the filth, even if it meant going to the river to do so. It was a particularly hot day when he came back in from tending to the plants. His skin was pinked and a round of freckles had been brought to his nose. Cian had dirt on his hands, and on his clothing. Mainly the pants he was wearing, since he wasn't wearing a shirt. Normally Cian would feel very un-nerved when he was anywhere in the public eye without his shirt on. Especially since it was considered scandalous for an unfair amount of skin to be shown. In the back yard though, hardly an eye could ever see him. He thought nobody was home when he came in, so he had not bothered to put his shirt back on, instead hooking it over his arm.

"Good afternoon, Cian." Dorian said smiling as he heard the door shut and the floor creak as Cian entered. "I peeked at the garden earlier. It's... gorgeous..." Dorian went silent as he suddenly forgot how to speak. Even Dorian, who had been living with Cian for months now, had rarely seen even a shoulder, was now privy to a full naked torso. Dorian fumbled with his words, muttering about a free afternoon but his mind was still racing. He silently urged himself to quell the thoughts. The desires.

"Cian!" he yelped, pulling himself out of his trance as he rushed over to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, studying, "You've got a burn. You should be more careful. Here, this plant works wonders for sunburns." He grabbed Cian by the hand and took him out to the garden. He swiftly plucked a strange leaf from a plant, green and smooth except for the edges. "This is an aloe plant," Dorian commented, his other hand still not letting go of Cian's, "When you break it open, like I did when I removed it, and rub it on a burn, or other irritations, it soothes it. It tingles." Without thinking, Dorian started to glide the flesh of the aloe over the pinked skin of Cian's shoulders. When Cian had realized Dorian was home, he had squeaked and brought his shirt up in a vain attempt to cover himself. Of course, when Dorian yelped at his name he instantly thought he was in trouble.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know you were home! I know that's no excuse for being inappropriate but..it was just so ho-" He never got the chance to finish because he quickly found out it was not his lack of upper coverings that was being scolded, it was the pink of his flesh. He had not quite known what the color meant. He had been burned before, on his face from being forced to live outside. Cian had never quite realized what it was though, why he hurt. He had slowly grown used to it, and it never bothered him after a few years of dealing with it. Once Dorian started to rub the aloe on him, though, Cian realized just how much it hurt. "Oh. Oh...that.. that feels really good," he murmured softly. He leaned into the touch, hoping he did not start to have 'bad' (according to society) feelings for the other man brought on by the fact that he was being touched like that.

"I'm sorry if I startled you, Cian. I just .. I sort of moved in to caretaker mode," Dorian expressed softly, still rubbing the aloe but moving to the other shoulder now. "I didn't want it to get worse. I hate seeing you in pain." He went silent again, breaking off a small piece to rub on Cian's quickly reddening nose. Dorian didn't let himself think. This was Doctor rubbing aloe on Cian's face, Cian's perfectly smooth face... This wasn't Dorian rubbing aloe. Doctor, he kept reminding himself. Dorian willed himself not to find himself lost in Cian's eyes. His eyes... somehow a mix of the ocean and the sky in two perfect orbs. 'Don't..' he accosted himself, 'Don't let your mind unfocus.'

"Oh, it's alright. I understand. You're a doctor, it's in your blood not to let people suffer." Cian smiled at him, eyes bright. He tried not to think too much on the fact that Dorian cared so much for him. After all, he was right. Dorian did this type of stuff for a living. "I will try not to burn next time. I just did not realize."

Dorian smiled and let out a soft laugh, "You're going to have to stop that. That thing you do that makes me want to ruffle your hair. It's unbearable." I'Or that thing you do that makes me want to kiss you until you can't breathe...'/I Dorian shook his head, like rattling his brain would stop the thoughts.

"You know. Ruffling my hair would make me feel like a child." Cian sort of pouted and stared at him, eyes narrowed. "I'm not a child."

"I know you're not a child, Cian. We've had this discussion," he said lightly. "It's just a gesture of endearment. But I fear that if I were to do that, you might inflict bodily harm on me and we don't want that." He tossed the used aloe leaf aside. "When it starts to feel irritated again, rub more on. If you need help, I'll gladly assist you, Cian."

Oh, he would need assistance alright. Cian swallowed at the mere prospect of having the other man's hands on him again, rubbing into him. "Uh-ye-yeah. I'll let you know," he replied heavily. "Right now I would just like to go bathe, if you don't mind?"

Dorian nodded, "Yes, go clean up. I'm going to go back inside. The sun is terrible today, but the breeze feels nice." Dorian smiled and walked inside, along the way checking to make sure the windows were letting in an adequate amount of the cool wind. He settled down, sitting in his preferred chair and let his eyes close. Letting himself relax enough in to a light slumber.

Cian gave a short nod to Dorian before he excused himself. He grabbed clothes from inside, something to change into, and then wrapped a cloth around his shoulders in case somebody saw him in public, on his way to the river. Once he was to the river, he slipped inside slowly, shaking because the water was cold compared to the heat of the day and his sunburn. Cian washed slowly, rubbing the water over his arms. Soon the dirt was removed, and along with that so was the aloe. When he got back he found that he really was stiff and sore, skin hot.

Dorian shifted in position when Cian came back inside, his sleep uninterrupted. His mind was relaxed and his defenses were down. His dreams shot him images of Cian. Memories of sitting by the fire chatting. Memories of watching Cian futz around the kitchen or garden. Fantasies of... Cian. Of Cian wrapping his arms around him and holding him. Soft kisses against skin. Of waking up to something brighter than the sun, Cian's smile. "Cian..." he whispered softly to the dreams. As suddenly as he fell asleep, his body shifted out of the comfortable position and jolted him awake.

Cian had not been near enough to Dorian for the man to see him or realize him after waking up. That was the only reason he knew Dorian was still asleep when he murmured his name. That made him sure that the other man was sleeping, especially since Cian had only just gotten in the door and had not made any noise. That confused him, and shot a shock of excitement and hope through him. Maybe Dorian really did love him? Have feelings for him? Cian grinned at the wall before looking down, blushing and chastising himself. Instead he moved around the chair, holding his hands out when Dorian jolted. "Dorian?"

"Hmm?" Dorian did everything in his power to stifle a yawn. He rubbed his face, attempting to kickstart his brain out of sleep. Attempting to stop the thoughts of Cian from continuing. He internally sighed, knowing that might never happen. As long as Cian was around, those thoughts plagued him. But he didn't fight it. If all he had was the thoughts, and not Cian here, then that would be more painful. He could live with the thoughts, and Cian's, much to his displeasure, friendship. "Oh, hi, Cian. Feel better? Sorry, I uh... sort of fell asleep while you were out." He yawned, rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes. Cian shook his head and smiled at the other man.

"No, no. It's alright. You work hard and need your rest, I understand." Cian did not know how to approach the idea that Dorian had said his name. Maybe it was nothing and he was being led on by his own silly musings. Maybe Dorian would hate him for hoping and assuming for more. Cian did realize that he needed to be more brave though. The lynching time was over, was it not? Dorian would only throw him out. That was not so bad, was it? He sighed heavily and fidgeted, toying with the tails of his shirt. "I... could you... I think you said my name in your sleep," he got out quickly. Cian blushed and looked away, hoping none of this would give him away unintentionally.

Dorian took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Did I? Oh well I-" He halted his sentence, staring in to the fire for a moment. Dare he tell Cian? In the process, he could lose his best and only friend. He could possibly hint and hope. But Dorian didn't feel like he had the verbal capabilities to be able to utter such a sentence. "It.. seems I have? I apologize if you felt it weird..." He sighed softly and leaned forward, his face covered by his hand, a blush creeping up his face. "I... don't have an excuse at the moment as to why." The dreams, the ones he wished so hard to be real. He knew, Dorian swore that Cian knew. That he could just guess. It was terrifying and Dorian's heart was pounding so hard he felt it in his fingertips

.

Cian stared at him for a long time. "I did not feel that it was weird," he replied softly. "I was just...wondering. Why? Can you tell me that? What were you dreaming about?" He sat down slowly and crossed his legs, trying not to stare at Dorian for too long. He did not want to give anything away. Not yet. This was the moment though, Cian could tell. It was the moment he could tell Dorian, or flee the home. He could get all he had dreamed about since meeting the man, or not. It was the trying and seizing of the chance that mattered. Cian knew he would not be able to live with himself if he did not seize the opportunity laid out before him.

Suddenly Dorian's mouth was dry and every time he started to attempt to utter a word, it froze in his mouth, disappearing before it hit the air. "I..." His hands left his face, one running a hand through his hair nervously. He swallowed, attempting to wet his mouth. He wished he could speak, he wish he could cross the few feet to Cian and take him in his arms. But he knew that it was now or never. "Do you know what it's like to have to hide? No, that's silly, of course you do." Dorian shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, and darting them between Cian's face and the fire. "I hate hiding, but I've lived my whole life like it. I.." He swallowed again, "I was uh... " He thought his heart couldn't beat faster. But he had to finish what he was saying before his fleeting resolve ran off. "You." He said it simply, whispering it, frozen from fear.

Cian was stunned. No, he was more than stunned. He could not believe that it was finally happening. His dreams were coming true. He had not been forced to marry a woman, he had a man standing before him who was just like him. Right? That's what Dorian had been implying, wasn't it? Cian had to make sure. He stood up quite suddenly and balled his hands at his sides, clenching and unclenching them. "Are you sure? I mean. What could you have been dreaming about me? Finding me? Worrying about me? Or...or was it...different. Do...do you have feelings for me?" He narrowed his eyes as he looked up at Dorian, searching and hoping.

Dorian watched Cian stand and opened his mouth to speak but closed it suddenly, leaning back in to the chair. He had said it, and now panic was spreading through his veins. He had hoped that Cian wasn't acting out of surprise, or perhaps even loathing. "I dream about finding you, yes. But not then. And I do worry about you, but I don't have to be dreaming to do that. I do it every day." He let out a scoff that had hopes of being a laugh. He didn't want to be without Cian and that nagging voice in the back of his head had told he had said wrong. "Someone would have to be daft to not have feelings for you, Cian," his voice still soft, saying it low. Cian made a frustrated noise in the back of this throat, and yet it still managed to sound dainty and high.

"That isn't what I meant! Sure, people can have feelings for me. Hatred, disgust, what-have-you! I mean... I mean do you... do you care about me, Dorian? As more than just your friend?" It cut off with the final word sound desperate, and hurting. Wanting. Cian always tried to hide his emotions, but he just could not help it anymore. The hope was killing him, and so was the idea that Dorian might not feel that way. Might not want him. Even if they were close, and Dorian worried for Cian, when it came to matters such as a sexuality that was only recently not a punishable offense, things could change in an instant.

Dorian's eyes wandered around the room, finally resting on Cian. It hurt him, it hurt him so much to see Cian standing before him in pain. Pain that he was causing by avoiding answering directly. It burned around his heart and made him never want to see his face like that. Creeped down his limbs, controlling him and before he himself realized it, Dorian was standing. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his body forgetting that he had to breathe. He crossed the space between them, standing in front of Cian. Hushing him, Dorian wiped away a tear that escaped from Cian's eyes delicately. A simple gesture. One full of hope. "I cannot put a word on it, Cian. All I know is that I don't want to be anywhere else right now. I never want to see you in pain, not like this, not ever. All I want to do is protect you. To be there for you and only you. To..." he cut off and lifted Cian's chin to look him directly in the eyes, "Of course I care about you. From the moment I met you."

Cian's lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile. "So...you don't think I'm repulsive for feeling the same about you? For wanting to be with you?" He took a few steps closer. "Because I do. I do want to be with you. I want...to do things around the house for you, to lie with you at night, to share kisses." Among other things, but Cian was not so sure about those. He was attracted to Dorian, but had been told his whole life that it was wrong. Which made him doubt doing sexual things. He thought maybe they would cause him to spontaneously explode, or to be scorned by everyone. Like they would see that he had indeed laid with another man.

"There is nothing repulsive about you. Painfully attractive, yes. Achingly so, I agree with you, Cian. I thrive on the days when I come home and you're sitting there," he gestured to the chair, "and your eyes brighten when you see me. I want the other side of my bed to not be so cold at night. I can't help but to look at the sky or the ocean and see your eyes. I see a rose and I imagine your smile," Dorian smiled and cupped Cian's cheek, his thumb grazing the skin softly, wiping the last tear away. Dorian just wanted Cian, for forever and a day. "Every time when you'd do something that made me love you more, I wished for the strength to take you in my arms and tell you how much you mean to me."

Cian felt his breath catch in his throat and he came closer to Dorian, pressing his face to the man's throat. "I would love for you to do that," he murmured. He could not believe that it was finally happening. He was getting the chance to be with Dorian. To pursue the romantic intentions he'd had for so long, that he had yearned for. "Thank you," Cian whispered. "So much. For everything."

Dorian felt like he was going to explode from every emotion available to humankind. He wrapped his arms around Cian, holding him like he was the gravity keeping him grounded. He was, in a sense, what always held Dorian together. When a man Dorian cared for in the town slipped away from life during his sleep and Dorian just sat in the chair, staring in to the fire, not speaking, Cian would softly hum, or sometimes sing, to ease Dorian's mourning. "No," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss in Cian's head. "Thank you."

Cian smiled up at him and leaned up to kiss Dorian's chin. "We can both just thank each other?" He laughed and then eased out of the other man's hold. "So...now what do we do?" His face was red and his eyes were bright. Happy.

Dorian smiled, unable to control the amount of happiness and energy surging through his system. He let his hands drop to Cian's waist, still not wanting to let go, like letting go would cause the dream to collapse and Dorian would wake up, the day of the market fiasco never happening and having never met Cian. "It's late, and I'm tired. Say... we go to bed. And you don't need to go slumping in to your own room, come join me. We have no need for that anymore."

Cian nodded and gave him a sweet smile. "Sleeping beside you would be fantastic," he replied. As they eased their way into Dorian's room, he wondered if they would consummate their budding relationship. Another kiss was certainly nice, so he opted to take one once they had crawled into bed together, never one for very much patience.

Suddenly, Dorian became nervous. He had never found himself sleeping with women, let alone another man, to terrified to peruse any sort of relationship with them. But the prospect of having Cian in bed with him, even just to sleep beside, bodies pressed together, was not only thrilling, but oddly comfortable. It felt nice, wonderful, lying in bed, kissing Cian. And so it was like that, that the pair drifted off to sleep next to one another and into a new phase of their lives with one another.

xXxXxX

Dorian should have seen the signs coming. He should have noticed the small signs when he first met Cian. He thought, he had hoped at least, that Cian would become healthy living with him, he was a doctor after all. But slowly, Cian started getting sick. Cian already had shown signs of tuberculosis, it had only started with Cian slowing down. Over the course of the summer Cian worked on less and less of the garden, only to come inside and curl up against Dorian. He could feel the heat radiating from Cian too, but he tried not letting it worry him, his happiness of Cian blinding him still. But he should have known. He hated the thought of being without Cian, and watching Cian cough so hard it hurts, hurt him.

Cian wanted so desperately not be sick. It seemed he was only getting worse though. He eventually fell into not wanting to eat, even his favorite foods repulsed him. At night he fell into terrible sweats, and shivers. Instead of getting better, he only got worse. The coughing sometimes came with blood, and he couldn't help but look at Dorian pathetically, bags under his eyes and fear shining behind his attempts to be strong. Cian was worried. How would Dorian fare without him, if he died? He didn't want to die! One night, the smaller male just settled in Dorian's lap and snuggled up close to him, fatigued and weak. "I love you," he murmured.

Those three simple words uttered from Cian so painfully, could have brought him to his knees if he would have let him. Cian had never said those words before. And to him, those words were the world. Dorian just held him close, wishing Cian didn't feel so feather light, "I love you too. So much, my little key." Dorian sniffed, trying not to let himself cry. Shortly after their relationship evolved, Dorian started calling Cian his 'little key'. His little key to his heart. Dorian didn't want the day to come where Cian didn't have the energy to get out of bed, to be unable to muster the energy to eat, or lean over and kiss him. He hated to think about when that day would come.

However, when that day did arrive, Cian was unable to even remove himself from the bed. He coughed weakly at least every thirty minutes, and had a hard time breathing besides. No food was put into his mouth on his own accord, and the lack of food still managed to escape, burning his throat and causing him feel even weaker, making him sweat even more through the already damp sheets. Cian felt so miserable, so sad that he couldn't even kiss Dorian when he wanted to. He wished the disease would go away, pleaded in fits of fevers for Dorian to make it stop, to please help him. Get something. Anything, from the garden.

But Dorian couldn't. They had nothing that would have saved him, not now. But he did all he could to ease the pain, the coughs. That day, Dorian curled up next to Cian, humming softly, scared to touch him but he didn't want to waste the rest of the time they had left. "Cian, promise me one thing and one thing only," Dorian paused to see if Cian reacted and he smiled softly in reassurance, "If our future selves, if we be reincarnated in 30 years or a million, that you will wait for me, okay? I do not think that I can bear to be without you." But this time, Dorian didn't stop the tears. He just laid there, scared that if he let go to swipe a tear away, Cian would slip away.

Cian let out a weak sob, the sound pitiful. "I'll always wait for you, always," he whimpered. The tears came hard, slipping down his face. The sobs led into a coughing fit despite all Dorian had done, and he never breathed quite the same again. His chest rose and fell in shallow pants and gasps, the fever climbing from the exertion it took just to breath. Cian knew he was going to die. There was nothing they could do for him. He didn't want to leave Dorian, so he clung to the promise that they would be together again. "I love you," he whimpered. "I love you." Each time he said it throughout the night, it grew weaker. Cian said it constantly, trying to make up for all the lost times he could have before.

That last night, all Dorian did was exactly what Cian was doing. Repeating his love. Every time Cian coughed, or his lungs crackled, Dorian's heart cracked more. "You will always have a special part of my heart, my key, always. No one will replace you. I love you so much." Dorian didn't want to live without Cian. Couldn't fathom a life without him. He wanted to grow old with him, wanted to find a little cottage and live out by the sea with him and continue their garden, wanted more days where he could hold him, kiss him, touch him. Living without Cian would be like living without half his heart, half his soul. Dorian didn't want to live half his life without him.

At some point in the middle of the night, the I love you's faded into barely any breath at all. By morning, Cian was gone, arms loose around Dorian, face pressed to the man's neck. He looked asleep, if his sides had been swelling and releasing with breaths. They weren't, though. He was gone, no longer suffering, but heart-broken from his having to leave Dorian all alone.

Dorian didn't know what to do when he awoke. He only took Cian's lifeless body in his arms, his body too tired and worn out to produce any noise as he wept that fateful morn. His love was gone and he still couldn't understand how others could live after their loved one died. How theses ladies he'd help through birth could live a day after their children died before being born. Shortly afterward, Dorian had no choice but to bury Cian, spending far too long to decide what to put on his headstone. After work every day, he'd go sit next to Cian's plot on the graveyard, and tell him of his day, before crying. He kept himself strong for his patients, not having bothered to share his life with them, but at home he'd fall apart. Quickly, Dorian felt apart unable to cope with his grief.

But he remembered the promise all those nights ago to Cian. He remembered the hope and the love and knew that someday, somehow, they would meet again. That somewhere in the future Cian was holding the only key that would ever fill the hole in his heart, just waiting for Dorian to find him.

That key came in the form of a feisty, fashion-enthused man by the name of Kurt Hummel.

"You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes in a moment like that?" Kurt whispered, shaking slightly as he sat down in the car. Dave grunted, signaling Kurt to continue. "A life flashed before my eyes that wasn't my own but felt like it was at some point.."

"Weird... Are you okay?" Dave asked, his eyes concerned, his hand gripping Kurt's. Pulses beating simultaneously.

"I'm okay. Let's go home," he patted Dave's hand, smiling, "It's strange. I feel like I love you more than I did 5 minutes ago." Kurt wobbled a bit as he was led back to the car, the alcohol he had was just starting to be diffused by his body.

"That's not funny," Dave said, smiling. He closed the door and placed a quick kiss on Kurt's lips through the opened window. "But I love you more and more each day."

Sometimes our dreams are what our hearts wish he had, sometimes our dreams are what our hearts had had. A quick glimpse of what made our souls the happiest, the calmest, and the most fulfilled. Something so simple as having that one person on your arm, that one person who just clicks and makes the word stops and fills everything up inside you, locks you up and stows away the key.


	3. I could reach the moon with your magic

I don't own Harry Potter or Glee. If I did, things would be terribly different.

* * *

><p>"There was an incident in high school, and now I can't ever watch Willy Wonka again, which is horrible because I really love that movie. But now every time I hear Pure Imagination, I break down in tears because now it means something totally different than before. Maybe it's because we saw Sue cry during it, or maybe because it makes me fear losing my parents and Finn, and now you David. We didn't get to hear Tina sing enough, but when she sang that song... God, Dave. It just.. broke my heart..."<p>

"Ok but what does this have to do with us picking a movie to watch...?"

"I'm telling you I can't watch it unless you want me to cry. And I know you don't."

"Yeah, so...?"

"Harry Potter Marathon."

"It it sad that I first went, 'Wow, nostalgia.' and then I internally wanted to punch myself because now I feel old."

"So?"

"Of course. It might take us all night. 7 movies, an average of, lets say 3 hours each... Kurt we might pass out around the time Sirius dies."

"Spoilers!"

"KURT YOU'VE SEEN IT 7 TIMES."

"..Spoilers." Kurt smiled and moved from behind the kitchen counter where he was shaking a bag of popcorn in to a bowl to peck a kiss on Dave's cheek. This was how they spent every friday night, they'd pick a movie and snuggle up on a couch. Years ago, when they bought this couch, they had gone to get help from Mr. Nathan Pierce. Santana made sure of that the couch was up to her par, remember the couch the Pierce's had during their teenage years, and how Brittany and she would lay on that couch for hours, huddled in a mass of limbs and hair. Dave didn't care as much as Kurt did, but Kurt was adamant about joining Brittany's father on the magic sofa hunt. In the end, Nathan just sat on a couch and motioned for a protesting Kurt to sit down. And instantly, the touch of the soft suede and the cushions that pulled in him quelled his opinion. Kurt didn't even care about price, which was well within their budget anyways as Nate was quick to point out that the man who owned the local company, was a good friend of the Pierce's and is even Brittany's godfather. Bernie gave them a discount without having even been asked and the next week, the couch perfectly filled the empty spot in Kurt and Dave's slowly filling new Chicago apartment, having moved in shortly after their wedding as a gift to themselves.

When both Kurt and Dave found themselves infinitely free for the weekends, they did marathons. They'd pick an actor, a director, a series or a genre and watch hours upon hours. Last time was "Movies starting actors from the Harry Potter Series, that we as Americans started to notice after watching the series" So it seemed right, in some aspect, to watch the Harry Potter Movies. They watched 'Cherry Bomb' where Kurt tore apart Rupert's hair and Dave tried his best to care about what Robert's character was saying, 'The Boy in the Striped Pajamas' and Kurt was quick to say that it was Dave who cried first, 'The Woman in Black' that caused Kurt to gape and shudder in horror but Dave really liked it, 'Red Riding Hood' was played after 'The Woman in Black' and Kurt fell asleep shortly after beginning it, Dave stayed up through most of the night. Even though the last two weren't necessarily scary, Dave felt a strange unexplained paranoia and couldn't fall asleep. Kurt woke up during the last movie though, he loved 'Love Actually'. Dave agreed and they spent the movie, pressed closely against the other, heart beats mirroring the other.

Kurt and Dave quickly found their favorite spots on the couch. Dave leaning against the right armrest, and Kurt leaning against him. Dave said, after a few minutes, "You know, Finn would be a hufflepuff."

"Don't you dare say that about my brother, you know he's a Gryffindor."

"Nah, total 'puff. Don't deny it."

"YOU'RE A HUFFLEPUFF," Kurt squealed, lunging himself at Dave, giggling. Dave

wrapped his arms around Kurt, letting himself get lost in his eyes for a moment.

"Fine, I'll be your loyal Hufflepuff, and you'll be my batty Ravenclaw."

"Well," Kurt said, kissing Dave softly, "At least we can agree upon the fact that I am a fabulous Ravenclaw." They didn't shift back in to sitting and they laid there, Dave on his back and Kurt curled up on top of Dave, his ankles tucked between the couch cushions and Dave's own ankles. They found themselves asleep somewhere around the time were Dumbledore fell from the towers, dead.

xXxXxXx

It was bleeding cold when I woke up. Which is funny considering I'm a hufflepuff and it's generally not very cold near the kitchens, it just smells like food and it makes me hungry. I share my dorm with some people I don't care to know their names, and some I do. Michael Chang and I are pretty close. But he always dances to class and he's crazy nimble, I guess that's why he's the seeker and I'm a beater. Sam Evans is pretty nice, sometimes we butt heads but I try to avoid him. In third year I made a comment and he socked me one but we've been okay since. There is this guy, Finn Hudson, he's the step brother to Kurt and I'll get to Kurt in a minute. But Finn is strange. He should have been a gryffindor but he was sorted in to puff with us. But whatever. There is this kid named Brett who smells like he grew in the greenhouse but I try to avoid him at all costs. Once he tried to touch my eyebrows and I almost stabbed him right in the eye with my wand.

But Kurt.

Kurt is... Kurt. He's a Ravenclaw. Loony and focused and even though we all were uniforms, he's still crazy fashionable in the time when we don't wear them. And he makes a point to make fun of my jumpers but I love them and that's all that matters. I'm not the one that put a spell on a trunk to get an endless supply of bowties and doc martins. I remember the first time we met. We were both at Eeylops Owl Emporium, I was looking at this fantastic Screech Owl, because it just looked bonkers, but this own Barn owl had one eye and it kept following me. But anyways, Kurt was there with this tall fool (who I later found out to be Finn, so in retrospect, he wasn't a fool, well he was, but not in the part where I'm disrespectful and Kurt wants to slap me), and he was visibly annoyed, something about how he wanted a cat but Finn wanted an owl so it worked out in the long run because they both used that dumb as rocks bird. But I'm rambling, which happens when I think about Kurt.

But he moved and the light must have caught his eyes just right because blimey, I think I went blind. I thought he was a right stunner. He was so campy though but it was okay. And I was infatuated from the start, But I didn't know his name until school when he was a person away from me in the sorting hat line, Finn between us. (Which happens a lot, and it's sort of annoying.) After Finn and I got sorted to Hufflepuff, the lady (Prof McGog is brill though, she was one of my favorites, I just didn't know it then.) called Kurt and he looked so bleeding terrified. Finn elbowed me at the table, I guess he was trying to be friends with me, and told me Kurt didn't want to be a Slytherin because he met this girl at the Ollivander's who was terrifying. (Rachel Berry, i found out, she was in my potions class. She was sorted in to that house earlier on. She was ravenclaw material, but she was so driven even at 11 it was bonkers so natch she went in to Slytherin. And I know, there is a lot of house shaming but since that war happened we've been kind of united when we realized that it was a Slytherin who helped save the one who helped save us, if that makes any sense. My best friend Az is a Slytherin and we get along just fine. And in our 6th year, Finn started dating Rachel. A puff and a snake! Well, I think it's funny at least. but I'm sure the Finn back during the first day of school didn't think so. He thought that because she was a snake, that she spoke parseltongue. All because he caught her singing some song in latin one day...) He didn't want to be in the same house as her. But he got in to Ravenclaw and fit right in.

I remember the first time I spoke to Kurt, we were in the library and he was off in a corner trying to work on some homework, at the time I knew what class but now I don't really care, and the only empty spot was next to him. He sort of leered at me when I sat down but when back to grumbling about scales. I tried not to pay any attention but.. he smelled so good it was hard. I grew up in a muggle family and Kurt didn't. I had no idea how to describe what he smelled like, it was frustrating. But I knew he must have smelled like something that his parents had. Or maybe all purebloods smell so brilliant? But I don't... think that's the case. Anyways.

I was sort of... rude to him. I told him not to stare at me like that because it was annoying. And I still kick myself over that remark. I was normally so nice but for some reason it was like... someone put a spell on me and everything just shut down and broke, turning in to utter shit. He scoffed right after that, called me a brute and slammed his books, walking off.

I didn't apologize until like 3 months later when I had the balls to. He just sneered and I guess he accepted it because after winter break he asked me for help in our transfiguration class. And then he just started sitting next to me and Finn during breakfast, claiming because he never got to talk to Finn but he mostly spoke to me anyways. I got to be friends with him. Spectacular. Maddening.

The first summer after we started school was odd. I'd get letters from him. Mum got freaked out every time an owl would show up. She got used to it sometime in August, even feeding the owls.

I kept all those letters

Our next few years were boring. Well, sort of. This eye-browed kid, who I swore was half red-cap, started hanging around with Kurt and he started spending less time with me. And I don't know, it just sort of... pissed me off. I mean, who does this wanker think he is? And just when Kurt and I were getting close.

And then they started dating.

I felt like I had jumped from a tower in to the Whomping Willow. But Kurt... he was stupidly happy. Sometimes I'd catch him staring at me, with this look in his eyes that made it look like someone had stomped on a dog in front of him. Later he told me how sad I looked. I yelled at him and told him it wasn't any of his bleeding business if I was sad or happy. I remember getting a lecture from Finn that night. Apparently Kurt ran off crying after I stormed off. Like I cared, y'know? He wasn't my boyfriend. Let the little goblin make him feel better. 'S not my place.

I don't care. Whatever.

Anyways, it's not like I could tell him why I was sad. I just... couldn't tell him. I wanted to. But he had a boyfriend and I was "a friend." Which fucking sucks.

This little freak, who I swore went only up to my waist, corners me one day and tears me a new one over making Kurt cry. The balls the bloke had! I yelled at him, told him he had no right to come yellin' at me like I did something wrong.

Things settled down for a while after that. They only dated for all of 5th year. Then I found out the summer between our 5th and 6th, Kurt and the guy who could fly with his eyebrows broke up. When Kurt spoke to me about it, I didn't even provoke the conversation, he just sat down next to me and told me everything, it was because they felt like they were just drifting apart, romantically. I'm pretty sure he was lying but if it makes him feel better, more power to him. I just remember how sad, but eerily calm he looked. It was awkward for me, I didn't know what to say to him, never had a breakup before. So i pat him on the back and smiled and he looked like he was about to cry. I don't bleeding understand people.

And then, get this, when I stood up, he fucking hugged me.

He. Hugged. Me. Like wrapped his arms around me and held me. Said he missed me, while we were hugging. I felt the vibrations of him talking through my chest. It was weird... Anyways. I didn't even know we were drifting apart in his eyes, like we were close to begin with.

I lost myself for a second there. He smelled so good I just wanted to collapse. I don't even know how he smelled, it was just good.

We fell in to routine. For every time he'd wait for me after I would have a game, I'd walk him to classes, or to the ravenclaw common room. I only asked him to wait one time when I needed to talk to him, but he always did. He was always waiting.

He started hanging on me sometimes after that. Like if we were walking to classes we shared, he'd make points of touching my arms, and sometimes if he was lost in some rant about runes class or whatever class, he'd link arms with mine. He used the excuse "I don't pay attention, so lead the way." I spent so much time before that moment in time, just fighting with myself about Kurt. Fighting with kids because they thought he turned me gay. Fighting with kids in school about how Kurt would look at me. I'd tell them they were bonkers because he can't like me. Not... not when I've liked him for so long. It would seem like... like some sort of cruel joke that the world played on me, y'know? Because it would be fleetin' and a sort of rebound... And then the one day where he didn't grab on to me and I had to pull him out of the way of a pillar, he gave me this look... this... look I can't... His eyes were all shiny and wide and he was holding on to me for dear life.

Those eyes made me tell myself "fuck them all" y'know? I stopped caring what people said after that.

I just wish I knew what he was thinking. I hate feeling like I'm being dragged around.

Finn freaked out on me, shortly before winter break. Told me to stop playing with Kurt.

What? Maybe the lack of air was making him stupid or something. I told him I wasn't playing with Kurt. That it felt like was teasing me with the stupid looks and the stupid lingering touches and I just couldn't handle it. Then I blurted out that I liked Kurt and I couldn't stand it. I freaked out and started yelling at myself...

Then Finn got all weird and sat on his bed and stared for a while. I freaked out even more and told him that I'm sorry if he thinks it's weir, that I'm weird, and doesn't want me around him. Then he looked at me, like he saw a thestral for the first time, and said, "You.. like Kurt? Kurt.. thinks you don't like like him-" Then I said we're not seven and he doesn't have to say that, "and he likes you... What? My brain hurts... I want pudding..." And he walked out of the room.

And I fell on my bed with my face in my hands. I just couldn't understand. Kurt... he liked me? That was nuts hearing it from other people. But Kurt probably told Finn and just.. everything was... insane and I needed some fresh air.

So I flew around for like.. I don't know, 4 hours or something. Until my face hurt from the wind. That always made me relax. Dodging trees and testing my limits and whatnot. When I landed, Kurt was there.

Waiting for me.

Like he always did after Quidditch practice, games, or just when I needed alone time.

All bundled up with a his silly scarf and hat. He refused to wear his ravenclaw scarf though. But I rocked my hufflepuff one like no other though. Anyways. I meant to walk right past him, because I just couldn't handle it right now and I just wanted to get some food and go to bed.

Clearly, he wouldn't let me.

Didn't even speak or let me talk before he grabbed me by the collar and kissed me.

Kissed. Me. Me.

Me.

I... fuck. Everything was perfect after that.

And perfect now.

I got offered to joined several different Quidditch teams from the Irish and English Quidditch league after we graduated form Hogwarts. I finally picked Puddlemore United. Not even the reserve team! Kurt got a job working in the cloak shop, but sometimes writes in a muggle magazine about fashion, he ways always envious of their fashion. Life is good. We live in this perfect little cottage by the ocean and every morning we're there, we get to wake up to the scent of salt, and coffee if he wakes up before I do.

But life is perfect.

Life is perfect when two are huddled beneath blanket and dreamt of lore and of flying like birds in the sky and casting spells on flowers. Life is perfect when the simplest pleasures is tracing the moles on someone's arm like a living game of connect the dots.

Through time, space, and the imagination of the mind, endless but so very fleeting, people are brought together. A red string tugging through dimensions to wrap around your arms, legs, and heart. Forcing you in the direction you're supposed to go, even if there are unwanted pit-stops and road-bumps along the way. Everything happens for a reason. Every word, is some careless code, tossed in to the dark, to open you and bring what you seek to light.


End file.
